Radical Dreamers
by Nemesi
Summary: Prince Estel of Gondor must wed the heir of Thranduil, the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A group of warriors sets out to retrieve it and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have Strider the Ranger and Legolas the servant have to do with it?
1. Chapter 01

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 01 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_This is a challenge for me. I rarely write light-hearted things, and in truth this is my first 'comedy', even thought I plan to throw some romance, action and angst (*coughs*and hopefully a sex scene*coughs*) here and there for added effect! I hope I'll do good! ^_^ _

**_Note 2 – About the storyline- _**_This is set in a world where Aragorn is the natural nephew of Elrond. He's the son of a Númenorean King and an Elf (or Half-Elf), but he has none of the traits proper of the Elven race. Aragorn's parents have both been slain when he was an infant, and he grew up in Rivendell with his cousins Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir. Boromir is a knight of Gondor, and the bodyguard of Aragorn. He swore not only to protect his prince, but Arwen too as long as he and Aragorn resided in Rivendell. Albeit Elrond is noble, he's not royalty: the elven Royal family resides in Mirkwood, that's now infested with Orcs and other foul creatures. Just as Aragorn is the Prince of all Men, Legolas is the Prince of all Elves. _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


_* * * * * _

"I don't think that would be wise Est—I mean, your Majesty." Unluckily for him, Boromir's audience was giving him less than little attention. Aragorn was too busy checking his equipment to offer more than the distracted wave of one hand, and his stallion was too busy drooling over the apple Aragorn had took a bite of to even glance up. Not that Boromir would have cared to gain the beast's attention, anyway.

The horse seemed needing to get some attention himself, though, and whined loudly, skidding his front hoofs on the ground repeatedly. Aragorn glanced up. Boromir did the same, seeming affronted at the interruption. The horse ignored him, crunching on the apple he had gained from his master instead. 

With a small chuckle the prince rose to his feet, fingering the handle of Andùril in his hand, gazing at the horizon with lost eyes. Then he turned and, released the weapon, slung the saddle over the horse's back and began fastening the straps; all in one fast, fluid motion. 

"It's the best solution, Boromir." He offered calmly, fishing for something in his bag.

The older man pressed a hand to his forehead, exasperation clear even in this little gesture. Aragorn's horse whined again: he'd run out of apples.

"Send our Prince _ALONE_ and _UNPROTECTED_ to *_Mirkwood_* is the best solution?" The Prince shrugged, frowning at the lack of _athelas_ he found in his bag.

"I won't be alone, Elladan and Elrohir insisted to come with me. And I doubt I'll be able to leave Gandalf behind, also – you know him."

"As I know you!" Boromir hollered, pacing swiftly after his Prince as the other Man made his way to a large chest and retrieved some small leather sacks from it. He stared hard at the Prince's back as he rummaged through the different sacks in search of the herbs he wished to carry with him.

"Surely you agree with me," Boromir said softly, hoping against hope good manners would prevail the Prince's stubbornness. "When I say that two Elves and one Wizard can't be enough of an escort for both the Heirs of Mirkwood and Gondor. Orcs swarm in the woods of the Elven Reign more numerous than ants and more dangerous than cataclysms!!" Aragorn rose to his feet with a triumphant expression on his face, clutching a small reddish sack to his chest. It exuded an indefinable fragrance, strong and sweet at the same time, and Boromir felt his shoulders unwind as the relaxing essence of the _athelas_ filled his nostrils. 

"And you surely agree with me," Aragorn told him just as softly, "When I say that we can't let someone as precious as the Heir of Mirkwood dwell in such a dangerous place anymore." Boromir snapped out of the blissful lethargy the _athelas_ had put him in, wondering briefly if Aragorn had been using the herb on him on purpose, and stepped closer to the younger man, gesturing wildly. 

"Wouldn't it be better then, your Majesty, to send a larger group of soldiers? It would take your uncle the Lord Elrond only a week to organize it and—" 

"It would take my uncle a week too much, then." Aragorn strode back to where his stallion was with what seemed annoyance – plan "_athelas_" had backfired, it seemed: Boromir was still trying to stop him. 

"War has been raging through Middle Earth for more than we can remember. A shadow is growing in the East, and the sleeping menace of the Dark Lord becomes more and more substantial with each passing day." He plunged the sack of _athelas_ into his bag and patted the beast once. He then strode to where his rest of his equipment was, actually ducking under Boromir's outstretched arm to get past him. "Elves and Humans are the last beacons remained on Middle-Earth, but they don't trust each other, and the other free races won't follow our lead if we're not united. As the only heir of Gondor it is my duty to reunite these two kin, and a marriage between me and the heir of Thranduil –as my uncle suggested- is the best solution." he strode back to his stallion, hoisting his other bags, sleeping blanket and flask of water over the beast's back with growing annoyance. 

Boromir stiffened at the mentioning of said marriage. The muscles of his throat worked soundly and he rubbed the stubble on his chin, feigning an indifference he did not feel deep inside. 

"About that, your Majesty…" 

"Don't call me that," Aragorn warned lowly, fastening the straps of a last bag with force. "While travelling the wild I'm back to being Strider, the Chieftain of Dùnedains, do not forget it." The stallion sensed his master's annoyance and whined, glancing murderously at Boromir, but the Man remained blissfully oblivious. 

"Strider then." He swallowed again. "About the Heir of Mirkwood… if you had remained at the Council long enough to listen to all that your Uncle had to say about it-" Aragorn whirled around, and paced toward a nearby table where his bow and a quiver of black arrows waited for him. 

"I know, I know." Aragorn hushed the other man swiftly, waving a hand to his general direction. "You want to tell me I should not marry someone for duty, don't you? But my happiness is such a small thing when compared to the safety of Middle Earth." He absently slipped the weapons on his back, dusting his tunic off when he was done. "Then again, my uncle said my future bride is more than beautiful. No words can describe Thranduil's heir, the _Aurêl_, beautiful Morning Star of Mirkwood, he said. But he spoke about unique eyes as blue as summer skies and hair like spun gold – I guess I may grow to love her in the end." Boromir winced again, something he'd done often since Aragorn had leaped from his seat during the council Elrond was (still) holding, and had all but dashed to where his stallion was, babbling about going to retrieve his spouse. If Aragorn had noticed his personal bodyguard and closest friend hurrying after him and shouting about something he had to tell him about his future spouse... well, he'd hid it well. 

"Well, like I was saying… the Morning Star is not…" Aragorn nodded again and paced back to his stallion's side, Boromir hot on his tracks. The beast whined loudly when Aragorn patted his nuzzle affectionately, and shook his head up and down in his appreciation, his dark mane waving in the misty morning light. 

"…aware that we're to be married, I know. I guess you want to tell me I should know her better before trusting her with my heart – I will take your counsel Boromir." He exclaimed, whirling around yet again and clasping his friend's shoulder in a warm gesture. "That's why I'll introduce myself as a mere Ranger and not as her future husband." He seized the occasion to grab the dagger Boromir wore at his side, and slipped it in the empty scabbard strapped around his own leg. "This might prove clever indeed, if not prudent. Thanks my friend, such a bright idea it is!" Boromir gaped after his Prince as he swung onto the saddle, seized the reins and galloped toward the blooming day without much of a word to him. 

And to think that Lord Elrond had been most surely *jesting* when he'd mentioned Aragorn's marriage! Boromir scratched the back of his head. At least he thought he had. For, let's face it, how would they have heirs? Okay, okay, he conceded they could try (Boromir shuddered lightly at the thought) but to succeed was a different thing! A completely different thing! Downright different! Utterly different! Lock stock and barrel different! After all, the Heir of Mirkwood was… 

A barely contained ripple of laughter rouse the Man from his momentarily paralysis. He turned, an eyebrow raised in inquiry, and as he did he found himself gazing at the sweet face of Lady Arwen, her smiling mouth covered politely behind a slender, pale hand. 

"So," she said between giggles. "My little cousin believes Legolas to be a maiden?" Boromir shook his head, his mood dangling between exasperation and amusement, and let himself slump into a nearby chair. 

"He didn't listen enough of what your Lord Father had to say at the council to even *know* that the name of the Morning Star *is* Legolas. Let alone enough to know of his gender." The Elven Lady laughed again, softly. Despite himself Boromir beamed up at her, _Undomiêl_ the Evening Star; the Lady he had sworn to protect along with his Prince. 

"Are you going to follow him?" she inquired with a smile, eyes half-lidded and shining. 

"I must." He shrugged. "Even if I often wonder if I'm paid enough for such tasks." She laughed again, the clearest, loveliest sound the Man would ever hear. 

"Foolish man," she chided gently. Then she shook her head, lost in some old reverie of hers, and stood motionless for a moment. Boromir's smile wavered as ancient pain filled the Elf's eyes, and was about to stood and reach for her when Arwen suddenly moved. She looked up swiftly, and the smile that spread across her lips might have seem only slightly amused, had it not been for the flash of sheer delight in her wide eyes. Boromir began to wonder if he shouldn't start worrying. Then she clapped her hands, resembling very much a child set to misbehave and to make sure to live through it unpunished, and the Man realized he *was* worried. 

Period. 

"Aragorn goes to meet a shy Lady and is finding a stubborn warrior." Arwen said, cocking her head to a side with a widening smile. "This might prove to be interesting- I'll follow him!" and then disappeared back into the Castle. The Man scampered to his feet, a hand stretched out toward her retreating form as she skidded trough the grey shadows and disappeared from view, all but shouting to a passing servant to ready her journey clothes. 

Again Boromir was left speechless, torn between running after his Prince or after his Lady, already knowing each solution would not change the outcome of the day. He hid his face in one broad, callous hand, feeling an headache approaching, and readied himself mentally for the quest they were to start. 

When he moved at last, walking toward his own stallion dejectedly, he wondered how much offence the Lord Elrond would take if he quitted his job – too many emotions, too may headaches: he wasn't going to live them down. Oh, no… 

Maybe he should seriously consider Éomer's offer to go and guard the borders with him and his brother. After all, what are billion packs of Orcs and one Dark Lord when compared to Aragorn and Arwen? 

**TBC **

**I hope you found this interesting. *grins* It's so fun to write! And I have such wicked ideas for the next chapters!! ^_^ *chuckles* Boromir's always-impending headache is *so* going to worsen… **


	2. Chapter 02

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 02 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink* in chapters to come. Yup, that's a warning._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_*glomps all the reviewers* Aww! Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!! ^_^ *offers chocolate cookies all around* I'm so happy you're liking this!!! ^___________^ _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


_* * * * * _

"And don't stay up late!"

"Aye, Father."

"And don't spend too much time in the sunlight – you may get sunburnt!"

"Yes, Father."

"I trust you to eat well, and… and remember to boil water before drinking it!"

"*Of course*, Father."

"Stay away from odd people, and don't talk with strangers!"

"Would we ever, father?"

"And be polite with the Mirkwood Elves, I beg you."

"Sure, Father."

"And please--"

Arwen sighed, rolling her eyes as she glanced up at Boromir over her father's shoulder. The six ones chosen to retrieve the Morning Star had assembled at the gates of Rivendell at the crack of dawn, wishing to say their farewells to the fair Elven Land… and in few minutes it would be time to have lunch. This was bordering ridiculous.

Feeling the Lady's eyes on him Boromir looked up and gave a responding sigh, a hand on his forehead, and Arwen shoot a look of sympathy to the Man. Her eyes fell on the Wizard sitting on a flat rock just next to him then, and found him smoking, peering quietly at the sun as it lowered slowly in the pale blue sky. She nodded at him and saw him nod back, before smiling at her cousin Aragorn, unable to contain the ripple of amusement flashing in her gaze.

He was sitting in a shadowed corner, perched atop what remained of a column of the old times, arms crossed and feet dangling from the high seat, swinging back and forth like a child's. He wore the same expression she'd seen on his face countless times when he was young and something he wanted was denied him. What he wanted now was to leave, obviously, and Elrond incredibly long goodbyes had transformed the proud Prince of all Men in a sulking little child.

Aragorn seemed really, really, REALLY attached to the idea of marrying Legolas… this might prove more than just interesting, she decided.

Eyes still on Aragorn's sulking face, Arwen nodded in agreement of whatever else her father had asked of her and her brothers.

"Father?" She called, eyes flickering up to his face.

"Yes, child?"

"Elves may be immortal…" she started,

"But they still need to breath!" Elladan continued.

"Release us?" Elrohir ended hopefully, struggling in the circle of his father's arms. Surprisingly, Elrond backed off. He hadn't forgotten to give his offspring a last squeeze though, and he watched with a raised eyebrow as the three panted for breath and sighed in relief at the same time.

Everything was quiet for a long time, and Boromir watched the sun slide toward to the horizon. Finally, it dropped out of sight, hiding behind one of the Elven houses of Rivendell. The sky remained bright, but the earth became dusky, and dark shadows stretched to wrap about the silent Company. That could be a bad omen, and Boromir was surprised to feel a shiver course down his back, long and cold.

"May a star shine on your path and guide you safely to the dark woods." Elrond said then, slowly, raising one hand in wave. Aragorn's whole face lit up, looking even more like a child.

"A star shines on us, indeed! The most beautiful of all!" He declared, leaping off from his seat. Boromir whipped around at the sound of his Prince's voice, just in time to see the other Man hopping up a patch of rocks and jump.

"Estel!" He screeched. Ioreth (the old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old-old—well, you got the point, woman who had raised Aragorn) fell backwards, strangely enough right into a handsome guard's arms, and didn't seem willing to move away from there anytime soon. With a screech Arwen hid her face in her palms, yet she parted her fingers to peer through them. Gandalf sent a thin stream of smoke from his lips, unruffled. After a moment of hesitations Boromir and the twins strode to edge of the ravine, the Man as pale as a ghost. There they stopped and gave a yell, and a stream of unrepeatable words sprout from Boromir's mouth.

Curious, Arwen stepped closer, and peered over Boromir's shoulder to the bottom of the ravine. Aragorn hadn't even *grimaced* when he'd reached the ground, bent on all fours. Instead he'd immediately leaped onto his feet like a cat, and was now waving up at the rest of the Company with a huge, brilliant smile.

"For it's this one most beautiful star we're going to retrieve! A star the Valar are giving me to keep and cherish!" The he paused, raising an eyebrow in the same way he'd seen Elrond do for years. "What are you standing all there for?!" He said, sounding genuinely puzzled, as if nothing wrong had happened. "Hurry up!" And without another word he dashed down the narrow path that sneaked into the lush woods of Imrails.With a laugh the twins dashed after their cousin, deaf to Boromir's protests that at least *them* could use the stony path as any civilized creature would.

Arwen turned to giver her father one last kiss and jogged up to the where their horses were. It had been decided that the Company would proceed on feet, as to be swifter and less conspicuous, but Aragorn and Boromir's stallions, Hasufel and Arod, would come along and carry the Company's gear nevertheless. Arwen collected the beasts' reins and began dragging them to Man's side, whispering soothing Elven words to them as they went. Once by his side she stopped, glancing down at the dashing shadows that were now her brothers, barely visible as they skipped through the vegetation.

"We'd better move." She said reasonably. "They're already more than half-mile ahead of us, considering the path we're using to get down there is stony and winding."

"And they're moving swifter than we ever will. Let's get going?" Gandalf released a last puff of smoke and patted Boromir's shoulder warmly, appearing at the Man's side as if from thin air.

Boromir nodded wordlessly and smiled, grateful that at least someone in the Company seemed to be sane and heed what he said, too. Carefully, he strolled up to the Arwen and took his stallion's reins in his hands. Arod let out a happy whine when the Man stroked his golden neck, softly. Aragorn's own stallion snorted angrily, skidding his hoofs violently on the ground. Are we moving or not? Aragorn's alone down there!! Boromir chuckled, almost sensing the horse's urgency, and with a last look at the fair Rivendell he headed to the narrow path carved in the stony hills, barely visible between the rows of bushes that lined it from both sides. Boromir took his time moving the branches from the way, and behind him Gandalf sighed, sounding as old as the world itself.

"What a pity."

"What is?" Boromir queried, his eyebrows creeping up without his consent. He stepped away from the path he'd just freed, and watched as his two companions started descending, the Wizard and the Elf chatting amiably. Gandalf shrugged, casually almost, and Boromir felt the embers of his headache stir.

"A pity I'm too old to do such things as leaping down that ravine. I would have loved to follow them." The wizard say, massaging his back theatrically. "Why didn't you?"

"Oh," Arwen shrugged, frowning down at her Amazon outfit. "Had I know we where to leap down highs I would have worn leggings – such a pity I chose to wear a skirt."

Boromir blinked. Glanced wistfully at the far borders where he knew war was raging, then ahead at Arwen and Gandalf, and blinked again. Rubbing his forehead, he hastened down the path, head bowed low. He had said it, hadn't he? He wouldn't survive the headaches… they hadn't even left Rivendell and his head was already throbbing.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in Mirkwood…

King Thranduil read the parchment in his hands for the umpteenth time in the last half-hour, glanced up at the Eagle who'd delivered it, and then read it again, just for the hell of it. Upon her seat the Eagle shifted, craning her neck to get a better look at the letter Lord Elrond had given her. Oooh… a marriage was approaching, it seemed.

Thranduil glanced up at the Eagle again, who gave a hoarse cry before fluttering her wings impatiently. Didn't a poor messenger get some food or water in Mirkwood? The Elven King ignored her protests as he sighed, folding the paper, and leaned back against his throne, gazing unseeingly at the huge gilded door of the throne room. Upon her seat the Eagle wavered, almost loosing her footing, and fluttered her wings again.

As if on cue the door burst open, and the very person Thranduil wanted to see entered. Or, to be honest, was shoved inside.

He was flaxen, tall and graceful, not unlike the other Elves of Mirkwood, and a light similar to that of the glowing moon surrounded him. Almost all elves have fair complexions and colouring, with a few exceptions like the Lady Arwen, but this one Elf stood out. Even covered in mud as he was, with his golden hair in a pretty mess and his clothes marked by hours spent in the forest, he was still a delight to gawk at. Despite his usual composure his lovely features were twisted in anger (but that did not make him look less than perfect) as he struggled ineffectively against his restrains. His wrists and ankles were tied, and two guards were at his sides, holding his arms so that the blond Elf was carried rather forcefully forwards, feet floating few inches from the floor.

A fourth person came behind them, wearing a satisfied expression as she went, even though the captive Elf wouldn't stop yelling names at her.

"You… you… you betrayer! How dare you tie me?! *ME*?! The Prince of Mirkwood! I thought you were my best friend! My personal Knight! You're supposed to stand by *me* and not by him!!! Betrayer! I trusted you!!" The woman beamed, blue eyes glinting maliciously, as she bowed her head half-mockingly. Or it may have been completely mockingly, there was no way to tell for sure.

"Sorry Prince Legolas, I may be your best friend and personal guard, but it's still you Lord Father who pays me." Legolas gave an angered screech at that. "So, when he ordered me to drag you here – I did."

The party reached the middle of the hall, and the woman nonchalantly waved a hand. Legolas stopped ranting when he felt himself being raised higher for a moment and then abruptly released. He landed on his feet with almost no noise at all – a rose petal falling on snow – and as quick as lightening he turned, reached for one of the guard's sword and threw it in the air. Both guards gasped – all elves are quick, but Legolas had moved with a speed unknown to them. Legolas turned to glare at the woman then, who smirked back at him with a touch of arrogance, even as the blade began falling down toward him like a guillotine. Mere instants before the sword could touch him, Legolas leaped, watching as the blade sliced the tips of hair that weren't fast enough, and swung backwards; a jump that had nothing human. His tied hands came free as if on magic, and so did his feet, as the blade flied past them before firmly embedding itself into the floor. The Elven Prince landed down gracefully, moving as if dancing, eyes still narrowed and teeth gritted and bare.

He straightened up, tossing his hair back and glared at his father, ignoring as he could the mockingly applause of his personal guard and supposed best-friend. He opened his mouth, then his mind registered what was before him, and his jaw snapped close.

"Father?" he asked, an eyebrow raising without his consent. "There's an *Eagle* on your head." Thranduil looked up just as the Eagle looked down, and the two shared a look. They both shrugged, or whatever we may call what the Eagle did, and looked back down at the young Prince.

"Of course." Thranduil replied matter-of-factly. "Who else do you think had delivered the message I wish to share with you?"

"But, Father, it's on your *head*." The King and the Eagle traded looks, and then blinked owlishly down at Legolas, heads tilted.

"So?"

"…never mind." He sighed, shaking his head. "What is it that you wish to tell me?" At those words Thranduil straightened, and seemed to become suddenly taller, and stronger. His shadow stretched and crawled toward Legolas like a spider, and Thranduil's bright azure eyes dimmed to a unfeeling blue. Upon his head, the Eagle gave a high-pitched cry, spreading and folding again her wings, and made herself comfortable on the blond mane, seriously considering to make it his aerie.

"Legolas, my son." Thranduil spoke slowly and evenly, his voice like the rumble of distant thunders. "War has been raging between Mordor and the free races of Ea for hundreds of years. Brave Men and Elves – with few Dwarves, and Ents even!- are spilling their blood on the front lines. Our army is strong, indeed, but the tides of war are uncertain. We're few, just *too* few, and the Valar know if we need the help of the other races if we want to put an end to Sauron's evil plots." His voice was grave, and Legolas suddenly felt cold.

"I know," he said. And his voice, usually so proud, sounded strangely feeble echoing in the huge hall. "That's why I want to join them at the borders." Thranduil sighed.

"And thus you try to run from Mirkwood each and every day. Thanking the Valar Éowyn always knows where to find you and brings you back." Éowyn beamed, while Legolas's frown came back full-force on his face.

"Do you think you alone can be enough help to our army to defeat Sauron?" Thranduil continued after a while, and Legolas's response was a mere shrug.

"Maybe I am not, but the way things are going, I'm sure I –no, all of us Elves of Mirkwood- will have to fight him first hand, sooner or later. Why can't I face him now?" Thranduil nodded gravely, and the Eagle, who had been dozing quietly on his head, gave a cry as she slid some. "I suppose so, but... do you not agree that continuing the way we have been going is rather hard on everyone? I think it is time we try to get help from a greater number of people."

"I know what you're about to say." Legolas stated quietly, his frown fading into a look of exasperation. "…'Elrond and I found a way to stop the war'."

"Err… You could put it that way, yes."

"What do you mean... 'You could put it that way'?" Legolas other eyebrow joined his partner in crime, arching upwards. "Father… the last time you and the Lord Elrond come up with one of your 'plans', you organized a Tournament for all the free races as to find new recruits for the army. And when it was over Dwarves decided to never talk again with a race that break its oaths, since you two refused to send the winners to the borders… and only because it was Arwen and me!"

"That… was an accident."

"And the time before, when you wanted to sneak into Mordor and decided to allure Orcs away from their posts… and ended up using Arwen and me as *baits*, tying us to a tree we discovered afterwards to be an Ent?!"

"Ehm… another accident."

"And the--" Thranduil snuggled deeper into his throne, arms crossed across his chest, expression sullen.

"That too was an accident." He shook his head, raising his chin proudly, index finger stretched out and pointing upwards. "But this time, we found a wonderful solution. Legolas…" he put a dramatic pause, here. "You're getting married."

A moment of silence passed, and Legolas's eyes widened to the size of teacups. Of all the things he'd expected to hear – the crazy, absurd oddities he *knew* Lord Elrond and his Father together could come up with- that was surely *not* something he'd seen coming. He purposely told himself that it was all a lie, or a cruel joke. He didn't think he would have ever heard those words leave his Father's mouth, even thought he'd been raised with the knowledge he'd have been handed over to some unknown spouse for politic purposes.

Still, he could not believe it.

Sweat began dampening his palms as he balled his fists. He wanted to say something, but his mouth had gone dry. He even forgot to breathe for the longest of moments.

"WHAT?!" He shrieked out at last, outraged, but Thranduil didn't even had the decency to wince. Instead he hardened his features further and leaned forward – so that the Eagle, now completely asleep, fell to the floor with a screech and a loud thump.

"You've always known this day would come." He said icily. "Since when your mother sailed to the West. Haven't you?" Legolas's hand came up, as if after its own volition, and curled around the green jewel shining around the Elf's neck. It was pale green of colour, and resembled a leaf in shape. Legolas's mother had given it to him centuries before, asking a promise in return.

_I will marry after my Father's will, out of duty, if this will put an end to this insane war._

_Yes, Legolas. You will. But take this with you and keep it, until you'll find… _

"I do." He sighed softly, freeing himself of his thoughts with a toss of his head. "I will wed the one you chose for me." Then a thought occurred to him, one he didn't like in the slightest, and Legolas looked up with the wide, scared eyes of a child. "It's not Arwen, is it?" He may have been fond of Elrond's daughter: they'd been close friends back when they were just kids of just a couple of centuries after all, but to spend the rest of eternity bonded to someone whose favourite past-time was to pull his hair and to break the bows and arrows she took without permission… well, it's wasn't what Legolas would call a 'charming option'.

Seeing Legolas actually *shiver* Thranduil threw his head back with a laugh, and the poor Eagle, who'd been trying to scamper back up into her aerie fell back down again, eyes round. They don't even let messengers *sleep* in Mirkwood?! What kind of uncivilized country had Elrond sent her to?

"No, my child. Your chosen mate is a mortal."

"Mortal?" Legolas spluttered.

"Of course. Men and Elves must be united by something stronger than mere words if we want the other free races to believe in us and follow our lead toward victory. And the children you will have will be the final proof of how close our races actually are." Legolas groaned, a hand on his forehead.

"Who?"

"Oh, the Heir of the Realm of Gondor, of course. A human of royal blood, half-elf and half-mortal, named Estel after—"

"Yeah, yeah." Legolas waved his free hand, still gazing at his own shoes. "Is she pretty, at least?"

What exploded from Thranduil's lips then could be called laughter, but maybe hysteric peals of amusement could describe it better. Legolas and Éowyn both started away from the throne, sharing a worried glance.

"Pretty? I don't know if that's the right word. I've heard Estel is very handsome, though." Who said Elves can't go pale? That's exactly what Legolas did.

"You don't mean…" Has any of you ever seen Thranduil smirk? I don't want to scare you… picture an alligator baring its teeth. There. You have it.

"A male." He nodded.

"BUT FATHER!"

"And don't tell me you're bothered by same-gender relationship. You've never seemed to mind any of your brother's lovers."

"It's not that!! How can you ask me to conceive heirs if my mate is a *male*?!" Thranduil waved a hand dismissively.

"There's always adoption, or we could ask Mithrandir to mix a potion to make you fertile." Thranduil wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Then again, when one is as young as you are, what matters is not succeeding… but trying!" Legolas's snowy cheeks had gone the colour of roses in bloom and seemed to be darkening with each word his Father uttered, shattering the myth which says Elves do not blush.

"This.Is.Nonsense." The Prince muttered under his breath, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Nonsense or not, a group of warriors is already journeying toward Mirkwood to escort you to Gondor, where you and Estel will wed. It may be dangerous to send you almost unprotected through such a journey, but it's true as well that we can't give you a bigger escort: you'd become an even too easy target for the Orcs." The King leaned down, resting his chin on the back of one hand, and looked Legolas up and down with a smirk. "There is another solution, though, to assure you more protection…"

_I don't want to ask it. I won't ask it. I won't ask it. I won't ask it. I won't- _

"Which is?"

_Damn! _

The Eagle landed on top of the Elf King's head, tilting her own at an angle to watch his face. The grin Thranduil flashed Legolas then was more than slightly wicked, as if he was plotting something a great deal more mischievous than an arranged marriage.

"Have you ever noticed that you and Éowyn are the exact same size, my son?" He cupped his chin in one hand, regarding the woman appreciatively. "Both with long blond tresses; both of fair skin; both of azure eyes… and few outside Mirkwood even know about your gender! Probably the warriors sent here reckon the _Aurêl_ is a maiden, not…" He didn't even get to finish his thought that Legolas had already bolted to the door, only to be grabbed rather roughly by the guards standing there. The poor Prince struggled ineffectively against his restrains for the second time that day, and glared up at his father murderously.

Éowyn walked closer to Legolas, and placed both hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to one side.

"I doubt I have clothes that could suit a *Princess*," she said with a grin, blue eyes glinting, "But I can check – maybe there's a gown hid somewhere amidst the leggings, who knows?" She gestured vaguely at the blue tunic and silvery pants she wore, and the sound Legolas made could have easily passed for either an insulted screech or a curse. His embarrassment made her laugh, and she stepped forward to friendly pat his shoulder, grinning when he glared up at her.

"It's all right, my Prince. Even the greatest Men have dressed up as women sometime in their lives – I think." He snorted at her wryly, ducking out of reach.

"Men maybe, but not *Elves*." She cocked her head to the other side, batting her eyelashes outrageously.

"But, you'd look so *lovely* in a dress. Absolutely lovely. No Men in his right state of mind could ever resist you." She grinned wider when he glared again, amused to see the a faint blush come with his scowl. Thranduil laughed again, head thrown backward, but this time the Eagle was ready, and curled her claws around the silvery blond tresses, waving her wings madly as the Elf kept laughing.

Legolas's head snapped up, and even amidst his rage he found himself wondering about his father's sanity.

"I warn you." Legolas said slowly. "I'm *not*, and I repeat *not*, dressing up as a woman."

"Oh, but don't have to. In fact, I forbid you to wear clothes any different from those you chose to wear today." The guards released him, aiming now for a new target, but Legolas remained oblivious as he quickly glanced down at himself. He raised an eyebrow at the grey leggings, the dark boots, the pale green shirt and olive tunic he sported. He glanced briefly at the bow, twin daggers and quiver of long arrows he had on his back then. In total honesty, he looked like a mere archer, a servant even. He looked up to check on his Father's expression. He was still grinning.

"It's Éowyn who might have to change her wardrobe… a snowy gown would look lovely on her, wouldn't it?" Éowyn would have bolted away then, if one of the guards holding Legolas before hadn't already swung her onto his shoulder and wasn't carrying her toward the Queen's old chambers.

What was Thranduil planning, Legolas wondered as he watched Éowyn punch madly at the guard's back.

Well, as long as it didn't involve him wearing a gown, whatever it was it had to be a good thing…

…right?

**TBC **

**Sorry to all of you who wanted to see Legolas in a gown… he'll wear the same outfit he has in the movie, in this story… *grinsgrins* Maybe in some other story? ^_- Are you wondering what Thranduil's plan is? Stay tuned then! Next chapter, Aragorn (hopefully) arrives in Mirkwood! *cheers and waves her Aragolas flag* **

**  
**


	3. Chapter 03

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 03 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_*HUGE grin* Thanks-thanks-thanks to all of you for all the reviews you're sending me!!!! *does happy little dance* ^_^ You made this author a happy author!! *distributes free Aragolas flags* You know? I'm seriously considering to draw one and put it up on my old site for the download… _

**_Note 2: _**_*cat-like hears appear on her head and Necchan lowers them* I'm sorry Marion, and all of you who wanted to see some E/A, but there will be none… I love Éowyn, I honestly do… but he doesn't. *points to Aragorn, who smiles weakly and waves a little* at least, not in this fic. ^^;; And then again, my muses tortured me into giving Éowyn a crush on someone else…I hope you'll like it!!! ^_^ _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


* * * * *

Journey to Mirkwood –Day Two

The first day of marching had been uneventfully, and so the morning of the second one. Around midday, upon seeing a deer, Elladan and Elrohir decided to have a hunting contest, and the problems started. The company set up a small camp as the two Elves played, trying to determine who was 'more male' of the young heirs of Rivendell. Thanking the Valar Gandalf had had the foresight to carry along a good provision of pipe-weed: it took four hours for the contest to end.

And, unsurprisingly, the winner had been Arwen. Once her patience had grown thin she'd risen from the log they were all on, and without a word entered the woods, her bow and one single arrow in hand.

Two minutes time and she was back with the deer. She stepped into the camp, pristine and perfect, almost gleaming with light, and beamed proudly at her muddy, sweaty and dusty brothers, dropping the deer at their feet.

The author will gladly forget to mention Elladan and Elrohir's reactions, as to keep the rating of this fic somewhat low.

To prove her supremacy Arwen decided to cook the deer then. It took her a good couple of hours, not counting the other three Boromir spent trotting back and forth from the camp to the woods and back, in search of the herbs she needed to make what she assured would be a delicacy. Boromir never got to taste it though – he fell asleep as soon as Arwen delightfully proclaimed the herbs he'd brought her were the very ones she needed. But we must understand him… he'd brought her more than one hundred types of herbs, and each time she would dismiss them with a wave of her hand, and yet could not describe or name the kind she wanted.

As Arwen cheerfully cooked, singing delightedly, Boromir shifted and groaned in his agitated sleep. In the background, Elladan and Elrohir could be heard, swearing under their breaths as they retrieved the arrows they'd lost in the woods. Aragorn too could be heard muttering as he sulked, crouched down in a shadowed corner, complaining about meeting his spouse behind schedule.

* * * * *

Journey to Mirkwood –Day Five

It was dinner time, and again Arwen had insisted to cook. She'd never cooked anything before this journey, but luckily for them she was learning, though not as quickly as the Company would like. She hadn't poisoned anyone yet, though, and that was a start. Not that they would ever dare tell her she needed lessons in cooking – throw themselves into the fires of Mount Doom would probably prove to be less deadly.

As he ate, Boromir risked a glance at his Prince, careful not to be caught. Indeed Aragorn was *still* sulking, grumbling about ending up late at the meeting with his spouse.

"Aragorn, about your spouse…" Aragorn's look turned from annoyed to dreamy in less than a second. Boromir instinctively jumped away.

"She must be heavenly, right? Golden tresses that glimmer in the sunlight, eyes as bottomless as the Ocean itself, skin as pale as cream and just as sweet…" He sighed, and the other Man glanced briefly at their package to check on the supplies of wine.

"Ehm… right." He turned back toward Aragorn. The wine was still there. That was mere food poisoning maybe? He instinctively dropped the plate he'd in hand. You can never be too safe. "Who told you that?" Immediately Aragorn looked up at his friend, frowning.

"Arwen, who else? She is close friends with the heir of Mirkwood, you should know that." Boromir felt like fainting. Arwen… had… done… what? "She told me the Morning Star is incredibly beautiful, and sweet, and caring, and has a wonderful voice, the most wonderful eyes, and--" the knight groaned as Aragorn lost himself in a world of shiny hair and blue eyes.

"Elbereth…"

"No, _Aurêl _is how they call her…" he sighed dreamily.

"…"

* * * *

Journey to Mirkwood – Day Nine

"So you would not mind it if the Aurêl was a skilled archer?" Boromir asked. Seeing how Aragorn could not *get* it that Legolas was a male –or that his spouse was called Legolas at all- when he yelled it right to his face, Boromir had decide to try another strategy, guiding Aragorn to the truth gradually.

"I don't see how she could be but – no, I wouldn't mind." Aragorn conceded with a wistful sigh.

"But if she was, then she would have to use rather masculine clothing, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so, but…" he paused suddenly, an eyebrow raised, and watched Boromir as he advanced through the foliage moving branches from his way as he went. "Boromir, look…"

"You wouldn't mind it then, if your spouse wore leggings?"

"Well, I don't think I would. But Boromir, please, look…"

"Good! But what if she was a bit *masculine*, too?" There! He had Aragorn in a corner!

"Boromir… look…"

"What would you say then?"

"…Boromir, look…"

"Seriously."

"Boromir!"

"I want to –SPLAAAAASH!"

"*sigh* I tried to tell you… there was a lake behind the bush you just moved…"

"…"

"Boromir?"

"…" Bubbles appeared on the surface of the lake.

"…*Boromir*?!"

"…" More bubbles.

"Err… Arwen?"

"Hm?"

"Does Boromir know how to swim at all?" she looked down at the bubbles, tilting her head as they grew in number.

"…Oooops…"

Defying the most basilar laws of nature the Company managed to reach Mirkwood in just ten days and with little more problems; undamaged, un-delayed, free of any unwanted meeting with foul creatures and with still many supplies of food and water. Obviously the way back won't be *that* easy, but we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Presently Aragorn and the Company had assembled inside one of Mirkwood's impossibly high halls, while a hear-splitting bell was ringing to announce their arrival.

"Aragorn, about your spouse…" he hesitated a moment, and then, yelling. "Is named Legolas and is a male!" Aragorn turned toward him slowly, and Boromir was surprised to see Aragorn react so calmly. Then shook his head while pointing to his ear, and Boromir felt his shoulders slump.

"I didn't hear you Boromir: the bell was ringing too loud… what did you say?"

"Valar…"

"Just that?"

"…" Where the *hell* is a border swarming with Orcs and deadly Dark Lords when you need one?!

* * * * *

"Oh Éowyn, let me tell you: you look so *lovely* in a dress. Absolutely lovely. No Men in his right state of mind could ever resist you." Legolas grinned wickedly, playing thoughtlessly with one of his daggers. He was sprawled onto his Mother's old bed, watching Éowyn with barely contained amusement as tens of servants slipped her into one of the Queen's gowns and styled her hair to cover her rounded ears.

"Not a word." She warned. "Not a *single* word." Legolas bowed his head.

"I'm your servant."

"Go throwing yourself down a cliff, then!"

"Can't!" Legolas replied, slipping the dagger back into its sheath. "I've to get married in few days remember?" Éowyn sneered.

"I hope your husband is old and fat and disgusting." Legolas made a face.

"I hope that he falls for you at first sight and refuses me, if he's really that disgusting." A faraway bell began ringing, sure sign that the 'princess' was needed into the Main Hall.

Checking her gown one last time, Éowyn muttered a curse and dashed out of the room, bouncing on one single foot as she put her shoe on the other. Legolas dashed after her with her other shoe in his hand.

"Thanks!" Éowyn grabbed the shoe and somehow managed to keep running even as she put it on, and then doubled her speed, ignoring the pack of guards and servants scurrying after her as she went. They reached the great hall in almost no time at all, but upon seeing it filled with unknown people Legolas had the strangest urge to hide. And so he did, skipping to an abrupt halt and hopping behind a column, his back pressed against it as his breath became, strangely enough, uneven. Why was that strange excitation seeping through him, he wondered. When the noise of steps clattering on the marble floor ceased Legolas peeked around and saw that, in her haste, Éowyn had bumped against someone and thrown him sprawled on the floor. 

Barely keeping his chuckles at bay Legolas surveyed the Company there gathered. He recognized Gandalf, of course, and Arwen, resplendent in her Amazon outfit. Next to Arwen stood two other Elves, so alike to her in features and proud stance that could be none other but Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond he'd heard so much abut but never seen before. They were rarely in Rivendell when he still used to visit its fair glades, for they often left to hunt Orcs with the Rangers of the North, and never before had the twins set foot in Mirkwood. Next came one of the race of Men, a comforting presence at Arwen's side. Legolas was positively sure to recognize in his hard features those of the child Arwen used to carry along whenever she went once, and that proclaimed to be her bodyguard. His face had grown hard and stubble was on his chin; grey wasn't yet in his hair, but all traces of his childish cuteness had gone. He had surely changed greatly, yet Legolas had no doubt that was Boromir. At that moment the Man Éowyn had collided with rose to his feet, and Legolas's eyes fell on his back as if after their own volition. He was tall, as much as Boromir if not taller, yet surely younger, and Legolas found himself bouncing slightly on his feet as he tried to catch a glimpse of his features. Part of himself wanted to stay away from him, for some reason; yet another, huger, part of him wanted to go to the Man in gaze into his eyes.

Éowyn's enraged screech abruptly brought the Elf back to reality, and whipping his head toward her Legolas chuckled at the funny picture she made.

"My gown! Ruined! You… barbarian!!" She wailed, throwing her arms up into the air. Upon closer inspection one would see that a microscopic mark of mud tainted now the pristine gown -mud that could come only from Aragorn's spotted clothes- but it was almost invisible, and for the longest of moments Aragorn wondered what was that crazy woman yelling about. Then he thought she may be noble and thus expected him to apologize for their crash. That thought in mind Aragorn bowed his head, though he raised an eyebrow as he did.

"I'm sorry Milady," He took a step back and swallowed the rest of his sentence when Éowyn gave another cry, her arms shaking slightly.

"The Queen's gown! Ruined! Thranduil will have my head!!" she advanced toward Aragorn then, teeth bare and angry enough to exhale smoke as she yelled. "It's all your fault! He will get my head and it will be all your fault!!" she said, her voice hitting a squeaking note on the last few words. He blinked.

"Ehm… sorry?" Aragorn asked, more than state. The woman looked around her quickly, as if her impending doom was looming behind one of those huge glided doors, her breathing hard. Faint chuckling came from the general direction she and her escort had come from, and Aragorn turned quickly toward the source of the noise. He saw nothing, even though he heard it when Legolas gave a gasp. That Man's skin was… dark, bronzed by the sun with hot kisses, Legolas noticed. Something he'd never seen before. It looked like clover honey, and black stubble stood in sharp contrast against it. The Elven Prince had the sudden urge to go and touch that skin, until there wasn't an inch of it he didn't know by heart.

"Sorry?! Is that all you can say?! I should get *your* head for that!" She raised a fist and shook it for emphasis. Aragorn gave her a 'yeah sure' look, both eyebrows raised now.

"Don't look at me like that, you…you… you… YOU!! I can do it!" Aragorn's look did not change in the slightest, and she screeched again, puffing her cheeks out like some animals do when they want to look scary. Then, abruptly, she whipped her head to a side, flipped her hair angrily from her shoulder and waved a hand toward him. "Cut his head off." The guards behind her almost face-faulted, but surrounded Aragorn anyway, bows and swords and daggers and spears pointed at his throat.

My, being a spoiled princess was *fun*!

"I beg you, fair Lady. Show pity on him, and let him live! He's my chief and best friend, and it would pain to lose him so!"

…or maybe not.

Boromir had dropped to one knee in front of her, and winced when she whirled on him, eyes aflame. But as quickly as her rage had burst, it dissipated. Éowyn blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then her blinking became strangely close to fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously, even if Boromir did not notice that, and a growl seemed to come from the amidst the Company.

"I wish not to cause any pain to you, noble…"

"Boromir." He supplied quickly. The smile she flashed him then literally dropped sugar. A low growl resounded again. Strange: it came from Arwen's direction… But noble maidens as she do not growl, right? So it must been a mere mistake…

Maybe Thranduil had a pet, or something?

"I will not execute him." Éowyn conceded, looking Aragorn over quickly, and the guards scattered away. "Who are you, anyway? You're not an Elf." He regarded her scornfully.

"Of course I'm not an Elf. My name's Aragorn. I'm a human and a Ranger, known as Strider up north in my own lands." He noticed then that her unusual hairstyle covered her ears, and wondered why that was. Elves were so proud of their pointed ears that to find one that hid them was simply astounding. "Who are *you*?" he could not help but ask.

"I'm the one asking questions, here." She replied, arms crossed. "And show more respect: I may have been merciful this once, but I *can* get your head."

"I'm shaking," Aragorn said idly.

"Oh, shut up." She gave a whistling breath, her shoulders unwinding some, though irritation was still obvious in her posture. "And answer me, instead: what are you doing here? And who do you serve?" A growled wrenched its way out of Aragorn's throat.

"I *can't* answer you if I shut up," he pointed out coldly. "But for this once I will. I act for Gondor and Rivendell's sake, and I came…" Éowyn interrupted him by giving a cry, pressing both hands to her mouth.

"By the Valar, you're the Company of Warriors Lord Elrond sent to--?!"

"Yes, but…"

"Elbereth!" Picking her skirt up Éowyn dashed to a shadowed corner of the room, produced a small mirror from somewhere we don't really want to know, and began putting a white, fine powder on her cheeks, patting them with a small cloth. Aragorn raised an eyebrow. Éowyn began checking her hair then, making sure her human ears weren't visible under the twined tresses and silver tiara, before focusing on cleaning the dirt her previous encounter with Aragorn had left on her gown.

No need to say it disappeared almost immediately.

Then she turned, flipped her hair from her shoulders and stepped forward, gesturing vaguely to a servant. He dashed toward a nearly window with a bow and threw it open suddenly, so that when she advanced holy light seemed to radiate from her. So much of it that many had to shield their eyes as she came closer. Luckily the servant noticed and lowered the blinds some, flushing slightly.

"My name is Éowyn, dear warriors. Welcome in my realm." She smiled sweetly, surveying the company, and batted her eyelashes outrageously… at Boromir. "You made a long and hard journey to reach me, coming across much and many perils-" she began, glancing quickly between the speech she'd scribbled on the inside of her arm and… Boromir. Once again the growl came. Okay, let's admit it: there was *no* way that was a pet.

In all probability Thranduil kept a lion or some other wild predator inside the palace.

"-and I thank you greatly, for the journey you're making will help us end the war. Brave warriors, I plead with you to let us go at once, so that I can reach Gondor and-" she nonchalantly rolled up her sleeve some, to get the last part of her speech. "-celebrate my wedding with Estel as soon as possible." Aragorn's eyes went round.

"**WHAT?! NO WAY!**" He hollered, pointing Éowyn with a shaky finger. "You're **NOT** the Morning Star! You **CANNOT** be her! You just are **NOT** her!!" He was breathing hard, face pale. Éowyn snorted in reply. Okay, she wasn't the real _Aurêl,_ but what need was there to react like *that*? He looked like he'd just had a close encounter with one of the Nazgûl and…

No, wait just a moment here…

What was he implying? That she was *not* pretty enough to be Legolas?! OI!!!

"*I* am the Morning Star of Mirkwood, unworthy Ranger. Do you dare doubt me?" Her eyes flashed, but the flames in them were smothered immediately by strong will. Hadn't been for all those witnesses there gathered she'd have strangled him for sure. Three minutes in his presence, and she already hated him. *Abhorred* him!! Aragorn did not pay attention to her, or the murderous glance she gave him, though. He was too busy trying to stop the hall from spinning round in front of his eyes, to even notice.

That… that… that… crazy, harsh, unfriendly witch was his soon-to-be bride?! Goodness… Aragorn felt like fainting. But someone beat him to it. When he felt a thumping sound behind him, like one of a huge weight dropped on the ground, Aragorn immediately turned around, and found Boromir lying spread-eagle on the floor, out cold. Arwen was kneeling beside him, making a poor job at fanning the Man as she gaped, mouth wide, at the Morning Star.

What was going on?!

Where the Hell was Legolas?!

And… does anyone in the audience have some aspirin? Boromir and Arwen both may need it now, considering the Man's headache seemed to have gone against nature laws and was affecting the Elven Lady as well.

**TBC**

***grins* How was it? Legolas seems already fascinated by Aragorn, doesn't he? ;) And poor Boromir! *glomps him* He doesn't seem to realize what kind of trouble he's in, does he? I wonder if I should develop those hints of A/B and E/B into something more, or if I'd better keep dropping just faint (and fun!) hints of Arwen and Éowyn being, indeed, rivals, but just for fun. **

**Next chapter, Legolas and Aragorn finally meet!!! *waves her Aragolas flag***


	4. Chapter 04

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 04 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_Finally there's a fair enough amount of A/L in this chapter… I tried to make things warm up quickly between them, and I think I succeeded. ^^V I couldn't help it, though: the fic begins with Arwen and Éowyn fighting over Boromir…*bright halo appears on her head* All my muses' fault, of course… O:-D _

**_Note 2: _**_A huge, huge, HUGE thanks goes to my dear friend Christine, who bravely listened to me as I rambled about this chapter and helped me with more than one line that refused to be written. *glomps her* _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


* * * * *

Boromir awoke to a weight on his chest. Around him - two people bickering. Two people bickering *incredibly close* to his ears. He managed to keep his eyes open for a fraction, and then his lids fell back down, heavy as rocks. He fought to remain conscious, at the same time telling himself the weight sprawled across him, chest to chest, raven hair pooling at his collarbone was *not* Arwen.

"Keep your hands off him!" It sounded strangely like her, though. Another voice answered, forcedly mellifluous, and the weight over him had the instinctive reflex to press itself flat against Boromir. Funny, it smelled like her as well.

"I wish only to help…" Éowyn's voice, Boromir acknowledged from deep within the umbra he was submerged in.

"I told you already, he needs *not* your help. He will recover in mere moments, thankyouverymuch." Arwen shot back quickly. One of Éowyn's thin eyebrows arched upwards.

"It seems to me that he does need it." 

"*I* can tend to his every need better than you can ever do!" She moved her arms round Boromir's neck and leaped to a seating position, cradling the Man's head to her shoulder. "THANKS." She squeezed tighter, and Boromir's face turned an unhealthy shade of green. Ox…i…gen… he mouthed. Agh…

"His every need…" Éowyn raised and eyebrow even as she crawled closer, propped very un-lady like on all fours, and then wiggled both brows suggestively. "Are sure? His *every* need?" Arwen's face went ashen, and then red suffused through her cheeks at amazing speed. Her hold loosened some – barely enough to allow some oxygen to reach the Man's starved lungs. He sighed a sigh of relief and woke up some more, fluttering his eyes against the light. Where…? What…? Who…?

"Maybe… err… not. It's not like I'm… we're… I mean… uhm… we're… just… uhm… friends. I'd never--"

"Thought so." Éowyn cut the Elven Lady off and with a subtle movement, yanked Boromir's neck toward herself, pressing it to her chest. Boromir gasped, his head moving toward Eowyn's breast, stretching with the suddenness of the movement, just like a jack-in-a-box's neck would stretch if suddenly tugged on. Keeping him out of reach from Arwen's frenetic attempts, Éowyn let her fingers waft through the Man's hair, soothingly. "How are you feeling noble Boromir?"

"Let go!" Arwen whined, prying Éowyn's hands from Boromir's forehead.

"As the *Princess* of Mirkwood it's *my* duty to offer help to my guests!"

"Go help Elladan!" Arwen argued. "Boromir's *my* Guardian! Go find *your* own!"

"Elladan does not seem to need my help." Éowyn seethed back. "Whoever he is! Boromir's mine now!"

"He's not something you can own! Leave him alone and… and… let go of *his* head! Now!" Éowyn spun around, tightening her arms and almost choking Boromir in result, and cocooned her body around the Man's head. "Not fair! *You* cheated!" Éowyn struggled to keep her hold on the Man, but the other woman kept tugging at her elbow, defiantly.

"Stop it! It is mine, I tell you!" she shouted. "Mine!"

"I had it first!" Boromir chose that moment to woke up completely and, once realizing *exactly* where he was, he leaped away from Éowyn with sudden force. Not only that but, with one final pull, Arwen pulled Boromir to her and they collapsed in a tangled heap on the floor. An awkward moment of silence let the two realize exactly how compromising the position they were in was. Then, with an incredible speed, Arwen and Boromir sprang immediately apart, the Man dusting his tunic and Arwen checking her hair, as if nothing wrong had happened. A servant came to help Éowyn to her feet and lead her back to the dais where she stood before. Boromir raised an eyebrow at Arwen.

"…'I had it first', Milady?"

"Well," she replied defensively. "It's true. I *was* holding your head before she."

"…"

A long moment passed, one in which nothing moved or made a sound. Then Boromir and Arwen both remembered why exactly the Man had collapsed and whirled on the Morning Star, gaping. If *that* was Legolas, the Prince had surely passed through a *huge* change since they had last seen him. VERY huge. Boromir was about to turn and ask Arwen for explanation when Éowyn wordlessly fluttered her lashes at him again. He held her gaze for a moment, admiration frank in his eyes, and she smiled. A chorus of 'awww' and 'oooh' came as she stepped forward, her hand out to be kissed.

Aragorn crossed his arms in annoyance, grimacing at the look of awe his companions and the Mirkwood's Elves alike were wearing, and looked away with a snort when Elladan and Elrohir AND Gandalf fought to take Éowyn's outstretched hand. Truth must be told that not only Aragorn, but Boromir too seemed unaffected by the _Aurêl_'s beauty. It may have been because of the confusion still claiming him, or maybe for the foot Arwen had 'accidentally' stomped on his own and that had send him almost doubling over in pain when he'd offered Éowyn a weak smile.

Aragorn snorted again, letting his gaze wandered aimlessly through the huge hall. Then a glimpse of gold – different from that of the furniture, richer, purer and simply more alluring- caught his eyes. An eyebrow raised Aragorn turned toward a white column frowning at him in the close distance, just outside the impossible high doorway, and he was astonished to see a pale face framed with long golden hair peer furtively from behind it. He was unable to suppress a small wondering noise, and was less than unable to stop his feet when they carried him – without him asking them to- toward the mysterious spy.

As he neared the pale face disappeared behind the column momentarily, and once in front of it Aragorn bent forward some. Just then the spy moved abruptly out, and Aragorn's breath caught when he found his face –and, you may understand, his lips- merely inches apart from that of what he immediately swore to be the most beautiful creature to ever walk Middle Earth. Bottomless blue eyes set in a face as pale as snow and as soft as satin, peering up at him amidst stray wisps of sungold hair. He would have gasped if he had the breath to, and seeing how the blonde elf – for an elf he was, as the dramatic point of his ears protruding proudly from his fine hair proved- had parted his lips, it seemed he was caught in the same dilemma: wanting to gasp but lacking the breath to. Then the incredible blue eyes blinked once, and the rosy lips tightened in a thin line. The face began disappearing behind the column again, slowly.

The movement awoke the Man abruptly, who reached out and caught the fleeing elf's wrist in a gentle hold. The blonde's eyes widened, and he seemed both stunned and ready to attack, but unwilling to. Aragorn realized his action had surely seemed hostile and relaxed the hold on the slim wrist until it wasn't more than a mere caress. He began tracing circles on the pure white skin with a thumb, and was strangely delighted to see the Elf relax visibly. Encouraged by this small token of approval, Aragorn pulled the Elf into his arms, rewarded by a look of placid surprise.

"I'm sorry if I…" scared you, he wanted to say, but the Elf did not seem one that could be scared, or that would like the thought of being referred to as frightful. He swallowed the rest of his sentence as said simply, "Beautiful." Accompanying his words with a gentle squeeze of his hand, "Who are you?"

"Legolas is how they call me." The other replied with a smirk. "Green Leaf" they breathed out together then, and as Legolas eyes flashed with delighted surprise, he tilted his head to better study the Ranger. "Handsome." He chuckled out at last. "Who are you?" Aragorn bowed, still not letting go of Legolas's wrist.

"My name is Aragorn, though they call me Strider. I'm a Ranger, chieftain of the Dùnedain of the North and head of the group of warriors sent here to retrieve the Morning Star."

"Oh…" Legolas said softly, painfully, staring out of a high window for a moment. His eyes fell on a fleeting cloud, and for a moment Legolas whished to be like a cloud –that cloud- and roam free across the limitless skies. He looked back down at the Man, a sad smile gracing his lips. But wasn't he like that cloud already? Drifting away from what he knew not by will, but because carried by a wind that would not let it rest. "The Morning Star. I see. I'm… I'm just a servant assigned to her Majesty Éowyn for the journey, Master Aragorn."

"Please. Call me Strider." Legolas beamed, the light of it putting the sunlight on shame.

"Strider then." He whispered. The name flowed out his lips in the most sweet and sensual musical tone Aragorn had ever heard, and he couldn't stifle the little whimper that rose from deep within his throat. The Elf stepped even closer, moving so gracefully it seemed he was dancing, his hands laying gently upon the Man's heaving pectorals as he rose on his tiptoes.

This human was like nothing Legolas had ever seen before, and the Elf was determined to discover all he could about him as quickly as possible. Elves, you must know, are the most curious creatures on Middle Earth, and Legolas, an Elf from the tips to his hair to the toes of his feet, did nothing to tame his curiosity about the Man. Without warning, and without permission he placed his hands on the Man's face, studying the strong features. His fingers skipped across the proud forehead, down the curves of the temples; across Aragorn's closed eyelids and then across his lips, before Legolas pressed his palm to the Man's cheek, head tilted and one eyebrow raised at the tickling sensation of the stubble there.

Aragorn understood immediately Legolas had probably never seen any human before, and was fascinated by him, thus he remained silent and motionless as the Elf studied him. Not that he would have moved if he hadn't realized that: the Elf's hands on him felt just too good to step away. He understood too that Legolas was not one to ever ask permission, but when he questioned himself about how could a mere servant be so proud and lawless, Legolas arms encircled his neck, his breath warm across his skin. Aragorn shivered again, breath quick, and thought fled from his mind.

Legolas went to study the rounded ears he'd seen only Éowyn and Boromir sport before, leisurely. They'd always fascinated him, human ears: so bizarre, round and short, unlike his own. Legolas's head placed softly on the curve of Aragorn's shoulder as the Elf caressed the Man's ear, and Aragorn had the sudden proof that ears were weak spots in Humans as well than in Elves. He looked down at Legolas and slowly, leisurely, a burning fire bloomed in his chest, consuming him from inside.

"…it's round…" Legolas was oblivious of the Man's dilemma as he blew softly, experimentally, across the Man's ear, giggling when Aragorn shivered. Swiftly, but with his usual, liquid grace, the Elf stepped apart, smiling to Aragorn in a way that was taunting him to catch him. He began to walk around him then, one finger tracing over his muscular chest and back. Aragorn didn't offer any resistance; however, once Legolas stepped in front of him once again to gaze in his eyes, Aragorn found out he couldn't stand the lack of contact.

Aragorn knew it not as he gazed back at the Elf, enchanted by him, but Legolas's calm and beautiful façade served to hide the angered feelings boiling deep inside him. Albeit he knew – he'd always known – his fate as the Heir to the throne of Mirkwood was to be handed over to a stranger as part of a politic deal, it still stirred dark rage inside of him. He knew the day would come when *he*, Legolas the free, Legolas the son of the woods and the earth and the water and the wind, would be considered like a mere object – a toy. Now that time had come, and he was loosing his freedom, trapped in a marriage he did not want. He couldn't argue - and he wouldn't; but that he, so free and lawless, couldn't do as he pleased this once stung him deeper than he cared to admit. He was affronted, unable to fight against his destiny and angered at this helplessness of his.

Yet… touching Strider, just *looking* at him, made him at ease, peaceful. Gazing at his dark features and proud complexion Legolas felt there could be good and happiness for him outside Mirkwood. That there could be a place where even a cloud could rest, lulled by the wind and nor ragged around by it. And the mere thought, the Man alone maybe, was a balsam for that hurt pride of his.

All of a sudden, as if a magnetic force was attracting them to one another, they were holding again. Aragorn caught Legolas and pressed him against his chest and Legolas placed both hands on each of Strider's shoulders. Their breathes met and mingled in the thin space between their mouths, and Aragorn's eyes narrowed, so deep and dark that the pupils were only rimmed by the smallest hue of silver, and yet glowing with the fascinated intensity of an hunting hawk. Oblivious and innocent, Legolas beamed up at him, without trace of malice or seduction, but so irresistible that Aragorn's heart speeded up suddenly, thumping so loud he was sure the Elf could hear it. So, lost in his confusion and desperate to prevent the Elf from hearing his strange excitation, Aragorn did the first thing that came to his mind.

Held Legolas closer even, dipped his head, and kissed him.

It was a caste kiss, if not for where Aragorn had placed it: right across Legolas's lips; and it was enough to rise an angered screech from behind him.

"Cut his head off!!"

Uh-oh…

Aragorn and Legolas moved apart, the Elf running the tip of his tongue across his lips and tasted a lingering trace of the Man, trying to do it nonchalantly. What they saw when they turned toward the Company made Aragorn's blood turn into ice at the same times at it made Legolas smirk. Éowyn was stomping her foot on the ground, waving her fists madly in the air as she screeched about cutting the Man's head off. Aragorn had the instinctive reflex to hold Legolas even closer – Éowyn's screeches immediately escalated of at least a good octave. She made as if to step closer, one menacing finger pointed at Aragorn, but she was not-so-gently pushed aside when Arwen speeded past her, and then pushed back into position when Boromir dashed after Arwen.

"Legolas!"

"Legolas!!" They cried out as one.

Legolas's eyes grew wide with pleasure, and he softly pulled away from Aragorn's chest, stepping toward the two dashing figures with a radiant smile. He had no time to utter a single word that he was caught in Arwen's arms, Boromir circling them both and inspecting Legolas as if expecting him to be hurt or something. Suddenly Arwen pushed him away, her hands curled around Legolas arms, and inspected him closely.

"Legolas, you're all right, thanking the Valar! I was staring to worry! What happened?! Who—Ehy! Have you cut your hair?" She said, grasping a blond strand and giving a savage pull. Old habits die hard, Legolas thought wistfully. He opened his mouth to speak, but Boromir rose from his personal inspection of the Elven Prince and clasped the blonde's shoulder warmly. When he spoke, his tone was deadly serious.

"Legolas, what happened? Have strangers attacked Mirkwood? Has Thranduil lost the throne?" Legolas blinked.

"Ehm… actually… no." Arwen threw her hands up in the air.

"What's happening here, then?! That woman who greeted us--"

"Oh!" Legolas cut her off, winking. "You mean her Majesty Éowyn, the Morning Star of Mirkwood!" Arwen and Boromir looked at Legolas as if he'd grown a second head before sharing a look. They then turned to Éowyn, who had stopped dead in her tracks when she had realized Arwen and Boromir knew the _Aurêl's_ true identity, and who was now gaping at them like a fish out of the water. Again they looked at each other, glanced at Legolas, and then, as if to check she was really there, they looked at Éowyn again. She actually waved a little this time, attempting a small smile. At once they turned toward Legolas. 

"No, Legolas." Arwen began, an eyebrow quirked up. "I was not referring to the _Aurêl_. I was talking about--"

"The Lady Éowyn, of course! Who *is* the Morning Star. Just what I said." Legolas exclaimed, sharing a worried look with Éowyn above Arwen's shoulder. The woman shook her head, looking as lost as he felt. Boromir and Arwen looked at each other again. At Legolas. At each other.

"Legolas…" Boromir began, his tone placid and slow as if he was talking to a dense child. "We know perfectly well that the _Aurêl_ is--"

"—the Lady Éowyn, the Maiden standing *just* *behind* *you*." Legolas said, stressing his words as he kept winking at them repeatedly.

"No, Legolas." Arwen tried again. "The _Aurêl _isn't behind us. In fact…"

"She's right next to you!" Éowyn chirped, her head popping up between the two. Boromir and Arwen leaped apart, and Éowyn batted her eyelashes at them, trying to look as cute as possible and making a damn good job since almost all the people in the Hall gave a dreamy sigh.

Again the Elven Lady and her Knight shared a worried look. What was this woman saying? And why did Legolas keep winking? Was it a medical problem? Wait… Elves do not catch diseases, do them? Then what…? Legolas gave a small sigh of relief when his old friends said nothing for a long moment, sure they had caught on and would keep silent for the moment being. But he watched, in pure shock, as the two shook their heads and whirled on him with huge, worried eyes. Legolas placed a hand on his forehead, and Éowyn clutched ineffectively to their arms in a vane attempt to drag them away from Legolas.

"Legolas… what's going on?" Legolas glanced about nervously as Boromir and Arwen advanced on him, effectively dragging Éowyn along, and when his instinct concluded that there was no escape, he straightened his back and swallowed. If he was to capitulate, he'd do so as a warrior, fighting! Not that he would survive it if he told about them his Father's plan before he could. His father was a *very* fusspot when it came to one of his plans.

Legolas's salvation came in the form of a pair of arms that, wrapping themselves around his waist from behind, pulled him away from the crowd. Before he knew Legolas had his back pressed against Strider's chest, who squeezed him possessively as he glared daggers at his cousin and his best friend.

"Leave him *alone*!" Legolas blinked up at Aragorn, decided he felt really comfortable in the circle of those strong arms, and snuggled deeper into the possessive embrace, tucking his head under the Man's chin. Éowyn was about to give another screech: that fitly, low Man was touching the Prince!! (notice how she conveniently failed to notice Legolas enjoying and searching the Man's touch) but caught herself barely in time, reminding herself this could shut Arwen and Boromir up.

It didn't – but something else did.

The huge door that lead to the King's quarters slammed open just then, and a quiver ran through the whole room as Thranduil entered the Halls. His finely-chiselled, ageless features were twisted in annoyance. His glinting blue eyes were narrowed, reduced to two dark slits. His lips, which could change with a single word the destiny of Elves and Men, were pressed in a thin line, and their natural hue was magnified to a deep red. Legolas whimpered. His father seemed enraged, and that meant troubles - for him.

Wordlessly, Thranduil advanced one step, enclosed in a fog of dignity. Without waiting for his brain to order him to do so, Legolas pressed himself closer to the Man's warmth. Aragorn did not move, nor did he say anything, surprise claiming him as he gazed at Elrond's best friend. What caught the Man's eyes were not the proud features, the silvery hair, or the magnificent robes – it was the crown Thranduil wore, shaped as an Eagle with her wings spread. Aragorn did not know that Eagles were so important in Mirkwood – he honestly thought Mirkwood's symbol and thus shape of its King's crown was a leaf! Then the crown gave a cry, fluttering her wings wildly and Aragorn wondered if there was something he'd missed.

Soon, the King was in front of his son and his face was blank of any expression. Then his eyes fell on Arwen, and he gave a delighted cry, the Eagle on his head immediately screeching in response.

"My little lovely dove!" he flung himself at Arwen and the Eagle on his head fluttered her wings at the sudden movement.

"Uncle Thranduil…" she managed, as the older Elf squeezed her breathless. Thranduil and her father were *very* similar when it came to greeting and farewells, it seemed. Very uncharacteristic of him, Boromir did not run to Arwen's aid, instead swirled around and began tiptoeing away, all the while muttering prayers to the Goddess of luck. Which must have been deaf other than blind, Boromir concluded when –with another happy cry- Thranduil pulled the Man to him and proceeded to squeeze the air out of him as she was doing to Arwen.

"And if this isn't little Boromir! My, how much have you grown up!" The Elven King smirked and proceeded to move the struggling captives he held until their heads were tucked each under one of his armpits.

"We have so *much* to discuss, dear friends! It has been decades since you last visited!!" He moved a step forward and stopped, realizing there was something missing. "My child must come with us, too!" he said out loud, and glancing up he found the Eagle looking down at him. He muttered something in Elvish to her, and the Eagle was more than happy to oblige. She took flight with a sharp cry, and as Thranduil skidded down the corridor she dived for Éowyn, gripped her gown and began dragging her along. The woman glanced at Legolas for help –the King's child was *him*, after all - and found the blonde prince waving at her with a grin.

"Come back soon!" he called after her as she, the Eagle, Thranduil and the still struggling Arwen and Boromir disappeared behind the huge door into the King's quarters.

Blinking, Aragorn slumped into a chair, dragging Legolas down with him. The Elf sat gracefully down on his lap, long limbs crossed, and leaned back just as Aragorn leaned forward. Legolas's head fell on the Man's shoulder, and Aragorn tightened his hold around the Elf's waist, his cheek now touching Legolas's.

"What was all that about?" he queried, and eyebrow quirked up.

"Don't ask me." Legolas replied seriously, crawling imperceptibly back some more. Standing each on one of Aragorn's sides, Elladan and Elrohir shared an amused look above their cousin's head, wondering when he and this… 'Legolas' would realize how they were acting. Unnoticed, Gandalf sat down in a corner, took out his pipe and began blowing heart-shaped smoke rings.

**TBC**

**This wasn't as fun as the other chapter, was it? LOL but I made it long to apologize! ^_^ I was seriously considering to cut this chapter where Aragorn kisses Legolas and Éowyn yells that she must get the Man's head… then, seeing I had already part of the next chapter done I thought, 'why not?!' and made of this a nice, long chapter. I hope that you found the meeting of Aragorn and Legolas worth the waiting! ^_^ I have a question for all of you, now… do you want the Company to meet Gimli and/or the Hobbits and have him/them join our group of heroes? I have ideas, but they would make the fic longer… funnier, but longer… delaying the wedding day… ;)**


	5. Chapter 05

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 05 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_*grins* This is the first time I get some many reviews! I'm so happy!!! ^_^ The story's almost writing itself, which is cool, and I'm having lots of fun typing it down! Only problem, you may have to wait a bit before the next chapter comes out… _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


* * * * *

"…And I still remember when my precious *sigh* little *sob* Leaf *sniff* was but 50 years old… he had this petit little bow he carried around all the time-" A pause to blow his nose and then crumble the tears-soaked tissue in one palm. "-and he would shot fake arrows to all that *sob* crossed his path… he broke many precious ceramics and wounded a few Elves, and I would yell at him… *sniff* **YELL** at him! How could I? Such a lovely creature…" Another pause, this time to dry a little tear at the corner of one blue eye with the crumbled tissue. "Luckily he wouldn't heed me and would keep shooting at everything within his eyesight… which meant anything in the close 50 miles…" Thranduil stopped for a moment, tears gathering in his eyes, and then hid his face in his palms, howling and bawling so loudly a Nazgûl could have seriously considered to take lessons from him.

Loud as he was weeping, the King didn't get a reaction out of Arwen and Boromir, who kept staring at him in complete speechlessness. The two were frozen in twin positions in front of the King, still sitting on the pink and bluish little thrones Thranduil had pushed them in, and still risking to drown in the fluffy cushions. Snowy feathers swayed around them, reminders of their previous war with said cushions, and one raven curl was actually swinging in dark contrast across Arwen's forehead, having escaped the Elf's otherwise perfect hairstyle. The two had been staring at the bawling King for the past couple of hours, holding a cup of tea loosely in one hand, and the plate it was hovering above in the other. Marble statues would have offered Thranduil more attention. Not that he would have let them comment in any way if they were to: that would have meant for him stopping to talk, after all…

"And now he's getting *married*! My precious little Leaf is leaving… and it seems yesterday that he was a still child…" Thranduil's head rose from its cradle, and the King rubbed at his nose and eyes theatrically, sniffling every so often. Bottom lip trembling, he wrung out the tissue he held, and a number of droplets rained in a puddle at his feet. Taking pity on the poor thing the Eagle –who had been standing on the low table at the King's feet, munching on some bird seed- tottered up to a box of Kleenex, caught one in her beak, and then toddled back up to Thranduil. The Elf accepted the tissue gladly, immediately blowing his nose with it and throwing the old one away at the same time.

Arwen and Boromir watched the tissue as it flew, drawing an arch in the air before landing on the quickly growing heap of its discarded brothers behind Thranduil's high seat.

"…I still remember when he was but 51 old… such a lovely little thing he was! You see, he had this pair of petite little daggers, and with them he would…" Arwen and Boromir turned to each other as one, eyes meeting above the long-cooled tea.

Time for a rapid estimate, here.

It had gotten Thranduil two good hours to get from Legolas's birth to his fifty-first year of life. Considering that Legolas was almost three-thousand old, and that Thranduil had a heart-attack each time he mentioned the upcoming marriage, Boromir's lifespan would have been long over when the Elf-King finally got to even start explaining *why* exactly Éowyn was pretending to be the Morning Star.

Maybe not *that* much, but surely more that they could spend there.

With choreographic synchronism the pair dropped their cups on the respective plates; held one arm out to drop cup and plate on the low table; returned the now empty hand to their lap and turned to Éowyn. Right eyebrow raised, they watched the woman as she stuffed herself with the pastries that had come with the tea and that had *never* made it to the other guests.

Between a mouthful of cookies and another she noticed them staring and smiled, before deliberately and possessively clutching the tray of pastries to her breast.

"Yes?" Spectacular synchronism again: Arwen and Boromir's left brows joined their partners in crime, arching sharply upward, as the two turned to better face Éowyn. Then they leaned slightly forward, hands clasped together on their lap and gazed at her wordlessly for a minute. She just kept eating, actually fighting over a newly-arrived tray of pastries with a passing servant. She smiled at them once she had won the tray and sent an affronted servant scurry back to the kitchens; she watched with her head tilted as they nodded silently to Thranduil, eyebrows back in place. Éowyn followed their gazes to the bawling Elf and the Eagle who was awkwardly trying to pat his back with a huge wing.

"—and he almost tore one of his nurse's eyes away while practicing with his daggers, I remember. Oh, he was such a darling!" Swallowing one chocolate pastry Éowyn grinned apologetically at their guests, already holding another one in two fingers.

"I'm terribly sorry, but his Majesty tends to overreact a little whenever his son is concerned-" An amazingly choreographic blink from Arwen and Boromir. If that was what she called overreacting 'a little'… "-I guess you're asking yourselves who I am, and why I pretend to be the Morning Star, do you not?" Amazingly choreographic nod. Éowyn flashed them another radiant grin and moved to place the tray back on the table – before thinking better about it and seating it on her lap.

"Well, you see, my name's Éowyn and I'm a human. My family comes from the long-gone lands of Rohan and Éomer is my brother's name. I've been Prince Legolas's personal guard since I was tall enough to hold a sword, and I have protected him ever since. Now he's getting married to a certain Estel of Gondor, (a human, and a male at that) and a company of Warriors has been sent here from Rivendell to escort him to Minas Tirith- but you already know of this because you *are* that Company. Never mind. Anyway, as I was saying, this Company is but a small one, as the Lord Elrond stated into his letter. You realize that three Elves, two Men and one Wizard are not enough of an escort for the Heir of Mirkwood, don't you? But granting the Prince a huger escort would just make him an easier target for the Orcs swarming in these woods. So the King decided that since I was going along (because I *was* going along, no doubt: I'd never leave Legolas's side, after all) we could use this little stratagem and pretend *I* was the Aurêl while Legolas was just my loyal servant- After all we both have blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin, and since few outside Mirkwood know of Legolas's gender (I heard not even his future husband knows he's a male) we could be easily mistaken for one another. Once we reach Gondor we're going to apologize to our escort and to introduce Estel and all the Gondorians to the *real* Aurêl, their soon to be… well, King-in-law." She plopped another pastry into her mouth, clutching the trail possessively and frowning to the servant from before, who had came back, acquired several supporters, and was now trying to pry the tray away from Éowyn's clutch.

Amazingly synchronized blink again. Then the synchronism was broken when Arwen whispered in awe, "You never stop to take a breath, do you?". Éowyn grinned in response, still wrestling with the servant over the tray, and casually plopped another pastry in her mouth. Beside her, another drenched issue flew, leaving a glittering trail behind. In a flutter of feathers the Eagle managed to keep patting Thranduil's back with one wing and to stretch one claw enough to grab a new tissue for the weeping Elf.

"And I still remember when he was but 52… such a precious little thing! He had this one petite little sword and…"

Boromir leaned against the back of his seat and massaged his temples. Great! Now who will explain them that they could not keep this up, without letting it slip that Estel himself was in the Company? Just as easier at it would be to convince Estel to reveal himself… killing a Nazgûl would surely prove an easier task. And THAT was a worldwide-known *impossible* thing to do.

He foresaw dark times ahead… very dark times… At this point, it might prove better to shut his mouth and keep lying to both parts, hoping in Arwen and Gandalf's help and praying the Valar to keep other troubles from getting in their way…

"…"

Yeah, as if *that* was possible.

Hold on a second, hadn't he brought with him one of those lovely, lovely brochures illustrating all the comforts of Helm Deep and all those other fortresses at the borders? He'd better check - maybe he was still in time to join Monday's supply of recruits…

* * * * *

Legolas poked a heart-shaped smoke ring as it flew past, grinning when it dissipated into a snowy trail. Behind him Aragorn was nodding off into sleep, and would tighten and release his hold on the blond Elf's waist as he intermittently dozed off and started awake. Sitting quietly in a corner, Elladan was polishing his dagger meticulously; Elrohir found it better for his weapon to get some action, and thus had kept shooting his daggers to the poor Elven tapestry hanging from one of the walls for the last hour. Unruffled, Gandalf leaned back and puffed some more hearts out of his mouth. When would Thranduil realize he had to be introduced to his plan as well? How planned him too keep Legolas's identity secret for the whole travel without his help? Another heart-shaped ring sailed from his lips to die beautifully when Legolas poked it. Not that he didn't know of the plan already. Let's face it, what on Middle Earth does Gandalf know *not*? Yet, he would have appreciated some more consideration. And no, he was not sulking, thankyouverymuch.

"Why do you think it's taking them so long?" Elrohir queried, pulling his blades out from the wall and checking them for any flaw. Legolas poked Gandlaf's latest smoke ring and grinned to the aged mage– even being three thousand old, the Prince could still be awfully childlike when he wanted.

"When my fa—uhm, King, summons you, you are sure when you enter those Halls but not when you get out." Legolas shrugged, his blonde hair sliding across Aragorn's cheek with the movement, and found himself pinned even tighter to the Man's chest as Aragorn became fully awake. Elladan gave a laugh, throwing his head back.

"Exactly like Father." Elrohir's own laughter joined Elladan's as he made himself comfortable beside his brother. Aragorn just mumbled a small assent in reply, nuzzling Legolas's neck. The blond Elf gave a low chuckle and a breathless little moan. Elladan and Elrohir couldn't help it, nor could they hold it in any longer - they burst out laughing. Immediately Aragorn and Legolas turned toward them, a bit late on the news, but since no one deigned them with some attention, they had all the time to catch up. Actually, it was when they tried to stand and go asking for explanations that they realized their were tangled together in an intimate embrace - and without even knowing *why* exactly that was. They turned toward each other, eyes round, and a multitude of heart-shaped smoke-rings fluttered around them as if caught in an exceptionally slow small whirlwind. Sparkling stardust glittered amidst the hearts as the smoke turned rosy in colour, and a sweet perfume seeped into the air – Gandalf's work, of course: he'd always been a bit of a romantic, deep down. Deep, deep, *deep* down… somewhere.

It was the Wizard's private opinion that those two were the perfect couple. He'd known both Princes since they weren't tall enough to reach his knees, and had always been fond of them – not that he would tell them *that*. Somehow it felt good to him to see them together. Legolas was a force of nature, untamed and lawless, just as Aragorn was the natural-born leader. They completed each other. Equilibrated one another, even. And then, let's admit it: Gandalf just *loved* to play matchmaker.

After about a couple of seconds of staring, Aragorn and Legolas both blinked. Another three seconds, and their eyes widened. One more second and they managed to move their mouths, albeit no sound came out. By that time, the twins were all ready rolling on the floor. Aragorn would have loved to tell them to *stop* -would have loved it dearly- but lacked the wit to even think, let alone form coherent words.

_By the way, what are words again? Uh…_

A minute of silence passed before Aragorn cleared his throat.

"Legolas."

"Strider." The Elf replied, an eyebrow quirked up.

"You… can leave my lap if you want, now." He shrugged. Legolas nodded.

"And you can let go of my waist. If you want." The Man nodded in response. Still neither he or Legolas would move.

"You can move now, Legolas."

"So can you, Strider." Elladan and Elrohir were trying desperately to catch their breath, but it seemed impossible as they kept laughing. Even Gandalf rose a thick eyebrow, but otherwise restrained from saying anything. Aragorn looked around him swiftly, frowning at his cousins. Could anyone help the twins stop laughing? He was trying to *think*! Not to mention it must be healthy to breath from time to time – something they hadn't done in ages. He whipped away from the offending image and around, and found that to be a mistake.

A *huge* mistake.

He found his nose buried into Legolas's hair, the Elf's scent tantalizing to his senses, and inhaled it deeply, wondering what the Elf's skin smelled like. What it tasted like. He bet it would taste like honey. A part of his mind disagreed discreetly and suggested it would taste more like vanilla. It was too early in the morning to have his mind battling with itself, so another part of him settled down the question, deciding the best way to know was to get a sample. The two parts of himself who had been bickering before went silent, having nothing to reply to *that*, and leaned back to cheer Strider as he lowered his lips toward Legolas's neck.

Oblivious, Legolas was staring at the twins with a cross, but vaguely hurt look on his face. He didn't like being laughed at, and was determined to do something about those annoying chuckles.

"On three?" he suggested. Aragorn snapped back to reality just as he was about to run his tongue across Legolas' neck, and glanced up at the Elf dazedly, as if in trance.

"Uh? *What* on three?" not that Legolas was listening to him anyway. Deliberately forgetting to count one and two he hissed a resounding "Three!" and leaped to his feet, disentangling himself gracefully from the Man.

Strider had different plans though, and ruined Legolas's perfect performance.

Lacking the agility that came natural to Legolas, he found himself swinging back and forth on the back legs of his chair when the Elf moved. Trying not to fall, he flailed his arms wildly and grabbed onto the closet thing – which happened to be, again, Legolas. The two came crashing down, the Elf draped across the Man's chest when they landed, and found themselves face to face and speechless for the second time that day. After a long silence that left them still staring at each other, they moved to talk, their faces hovering closer for some alien reason unknown to them both as well as any other.

"I…"

"I…"

Then, the screech came, and Aragorn couldn't say he hadn't been expecting it.

"Cut his head off!!!"

His beloved soon-to-be bride had returned, Aragorn acknowledged. Now why wasn't his heart swelling with happiness, he wondered. He rolled his eyes and doing so met Legolas's gaze, wide and apologetic above him. Anxiety surged inside of the Man, and an instinctive reflex inside his mind told him it was time to retreat – or maybe it was those parts of his mind from before, still indignant at not getting a taste of the Elf's skin.

Quick as lightening Aragorn swooped to his feet, caught Legolas around the waist, hoisted the trashing Elf across his shoulder, and dashed toward the front door.

"We're going to scout the area to… err… find the safest route to Gondor! Meet us in front of the Castle as soon as you can, and we'll depart without… uh… further delay!!" In the background, Éowyn screeched again, held back by Boromir before she could launch herself at the fleeing Ranger. With a laugh Elladan and Elrohir dashed after him, beckoning to their sister to follow them. She ignored them though, busy as she was trying to pry Éowyn away from Boromir: the Rohan Lady had all but glued herself to the Gondorian Knight when she'd understood it was him who held her back.

"Leave him alone! *NOW*!"

"If no one holds me back, I'll get that Ranger's head! Hold me back, noble Boromir?"

"…"

He only hoped to have enough supplies of _athelas_ to cure his headache with, if he had indeed forgotten home that one brochure about Helm Deep…

**TBC**

**I'm still deciding whether or not Gimli & co. should show up. If I end up putting them in the fic they will probably meet with Aragorn and Legolas without joining them… we'll see. Though they *may* (this isn't definitive) be playing parts none of you would expect… ;) **

Sam: "Err… C'ptain Gimli, sir?" 

Gimli: "Whaddya want?" 

Frodo: "There's an *Elf* in here." 

Merry: "Pointy ears, blonde hair and everything." 

Pippin: "And very cute, too!" 

Gimli: "Stop sayin' nonsense an' keep moving your feet! We're gonna chase 'at Company of fools out of *our* woods!" 

Legolas: "Oh, my…" 


	6. Chapter 06

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 06 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_I just came back from an extenuating lil vacation over at my aunt's, and to relive all the stress of babysitting my little cousins I typed a whole chapter down! Woo-ooh! Go me! ^^V _

**_Note 2: _**_Morfëataur is a place born from my twisted mind that never appeared in any of Tolkien's works. ^_^ Taur means 'woods', Mor means 'dark' while Fëa means 'spirit' so, hopefully, __ Morfëataur means "Woods of the Dark Spirit" but I wouldn't bet on it… ^^;; _

_ **Note 3: **The suitcases scene is inspired to the beginning of FFX, and the 'crush' mentioned in said scene is just a joke between Legolas and Éowyn, and won't have further development. (Unless you're interested in it. ^_^)_

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


* * * * *

If Aragorn had ever wondered *how* exactly a punching bag felt when pummelled mercilessly… well, he surely knew enough to write a manual, now. Not that getting into books business was a bad idea - he could definitely need some extra money, whether he got that position as King of Men or not. He doubted that sitting on a throne and shouting orders was a really money-making job – he'd always suspected Elrond to be secretly hard up. Oh, he could already see it, publicity slogans and everything!

_King Elessar's Best Seller Book, "Why Shan't Thee Hit Thy Punching Bag" is out on all libraries across Middle Earth! Elves, Ents, Men and Hobbits! Buy it now, and you'll receive a lovely blond-Elf plushie to pamper and cuddle as you wish! Long legs, shiny hair and big blue eyes, the Legolas plushie is the best partner for your lonely nights, and— _

No, no, no, *wait*. 

He was getting sidetracked inside his own fantasies, here! Legolas had more power than he thought - at least on him. Aragorn shook his head clear and stopped, unintentionally dodging a punch from the trashing Elf draped across his shoulder. Legolas's deceptively slim hands and small hands held a strength one would not guess. Aragorn's back had been having a close encounter with said small hands for the past minutes - an experience it wasn't looking forward to repeat any time soon. There was maybe *one* place just between Aragorn's shoulder blades that did not hurt.

"Let me goooooo!!!"

…erase that. The struggling Elf had just struck that one spot while pleading (ordering?) Aragorn to let him go. With a shrug that send Legolas squealing and holding onto him for dear life Aragorn rearranged the Elf across his shoulders as if a mantle, until the his long legs and arms were dangling from each of Aragorn's shoulders.

"I'm quite comfortable as I am now, actually." Quiet true – with his back out of Legolas's punches' reach he felt quite renewed. He glanced a Legolas out of the corner of his eyes – was it just him, or the Elf was blushing?

"Set.Me.Down." Legolas hissed through clenched teeth. Aragorn shrugged again – and again Legolas had to hold onto him not to fall down. 

"Why? I mean, I'm comfortable; you're comfortable, not walking and everything, why would we want to set you down?" 

"Because." 

"*That* does not sound a reason good enough to me." Aragorn laughed, and Legolas's arms wound up around the Man's neck in his quest for equilibrium. Being cheek-to-cheek with Strider now, it would have been impossible for Legolas to miss the look of satisfaction written all over the Man's face, and the Elf felt his blood boil. If that human was doing that on purpose (why, you mean there were still doubts?) he'd better say so and *stop*! 

"I'm serious, human! Release me! *Now*!"

"Or else? You don't seem in the position to be giving orders, Elf." Legolas flushed. No *one* plays with Legolas "Green Leaf"'s pride and survives.

"On the count of three," the blonde informed in a conversational tone, "You're going to release me, our my friend the elven dagger here," he pocked the Man's throat with the blade just as casually, "Will be glad to show your vocal chords outside." One second time and he was on the ground, patting his tunic off of inexistent dust.

"Where did *that* come from?" Aragorn demanded, rubbing his neck with a pout on his face. Gods, either that elf was *swift*, or he was a magician – if not both. _Come on, one does not get *such* a body by nature… _

Even though so graceful, it was easy to say Legolas slim limbs held considerable strength; like a feline he was, flawless and strong and simply beautiful. With his blonde hair and bottomless blue eyes Legolas was enchanting, Aragorn had to admit. Pretty, but not like a woman. Pretty like only him could be. His long arms and nimble fingers, marred with marks known only to archers, and still so delicate-looking. His legs, long and lithe, clad in the tight leather of his leggings. The dark fabric was wrapped around him like a second skin, following every curve and hollow of the lithe tights and powerful calf, caressing the curve of his hips and butt. A nice butt. *Very* nice. No doubt.  
  
Not that he had been looking, anyway.

"Its scabbard." Legolas said dryly. Aragorn gave a fake short laugh, wry.

"Very funny. Couldn't you have just *told* me if you wanted to be set down?"

"I *did*." Legolas snorted. "It's *you* who wouldn't listen!"

"You're saying this as if I was holding you captive by force and wouldn't let you go!" One of Legolas's slim eyebrow rose up sharply.

"You were."

"I wasn't."

"You were. Since from your arrival you've been holding me as if tomorrow wasn't to come!"

"I wasn't! Why would I want to hold *you*?" Legolas's other eyebrow followed its brother's lead, and the Elf stared at Strider before glancing quickly but efficiently at himself. Aragorn flushed when the Elf looked up and him, but had the gumption to hide his flaming cheeks, bringing a fist to his mouth and coughing as if to clear his throat. "Okay, erase that. I see *why* I would hold you… though it doesn't mean I was." Legolas, who had been revelling in his little victory on the Man, gave Strider one of his looks that said 'I'm going to hit you' (the Man would soon know how many 'looks' Legolas actually had, and the multitask quality of most of them). Strider flashed him a smile that usually annoyed even the always-calm Elrond, and Legolas proved to be affected likewise when his eyes narrowed.

"You were, though, leaning against me Elf. Weren't you?" Legolas blushed and glared together, one thing negating the other, though the effects they had on his loveliness remained. He looked so good right then, so *desirable*, all embarrassed and angry, that Aragorn wondered briefly how could Éowyn be the Morning Star when there was such a wonderful creature around.

"*You* started it!"

"Ah-ah! So you admit it! You *were* leaning on me!"

"You were *holding* me!"

"You still aren't denying that you were leaning on me."

"You didn't deny that you were holding me either!" Aragorn smirked, cockiness written all over his face.

"But I didn't admit it, either." Legolas crossed his arms and looked away, blonde hair swirling around him, and Aragorn almost lost his focus again. Almost. He should definitely force Legolas to wear a hat whenever he wished to talk to him: his hair were too much of a distraction. The Elf himself was. Maybe a long cape and a drawn hood could help?

"Neither did I," Legolas muttered back. He sighed. "'This not good. We should collaborate, not bicker. We're going together to Gondor, after all. Collaboration and friendship are needed as air if we want to survive the wilderness." Aragorn looked down.

"I know." Legolas bit his bottom lip, feeling as if coldly dismissed. Aragorn too realized he wasn't exactly up for winning the 'most polite Ranger of the year' prize, and cleared his throat nervously. "So… you're coming with us for real?" He said it slowly, trying to leave the hope out of his voice.

Evidently he had done that a touch *too* good, because not only he didn't sound hopeful in the slightest, but Legolas gave an angry growl, tightening his fists as he heard the Man, sure he was implying the Elf would be a bother for them.

"Of course I am! Whether you want to have me or not!" Aragorn frowned, jerking his head up to stare at the Elf.

"Of course I want you, Legolas!" he cried, then winced. That didn't come out the way it was supposed to. "To… come along, I mean."

"Of course you meant that." Legolas smirked. Many before had showed interest for him. It had even annoyed him at times, to have so many pretenders, but *this*… this was absolutely priceless. A pity he was to be married in a few days.

At that moment Éowyn came crashing out from the Castle's impossibly high front doors, panting and stumbling under the weight of tens suitcases. On the last steps of the staircase that lead to the dais Aragorn and Legolas were in, she noticed how close they were, gave a screech and, miscalculating the distance she put a foot in fall, tumbling down to their level. Aragorn hurried to help her, (he was her future husband, after all) but the first thing she said, before picking herself up from the ground and even before understanding what had happened at all was,

"Don't… *ouch*… touch him… *groan* or I'll get your head…" Aragorn gave up helping her and stepped away, retreating into a corner and laying his back against a tree, arms folded across his chest.

What's with this Man and shadowed corners anyway?

Legolas took the Man's place next to Éowyn, and frowned down at her as she checked her… ehm… let's call it 'lower back' for any damage.

"You don't need all that luggage, Éowy."

"She *can't* bring it, need or not need." Aragorn corrected from his corner, pouting. *Éowy*?! Those two were *that* close? Damn. He'd better do something, and *soon*, if he wanted to marry Leg- ehm, *Éowyn*. Yeah, Éowyn.

"They're not really my things." She said as she grabbed Legolas's hand (which he had not offered her, anyway) and rose to her feet, checking her gown. "They're gifts for Elrond from Thranduil."

"Gifts?" Aragorn and Legolas said in perfect unison. Éowyn nodded.

"Anything you can find in Mirkwood, from Blueberries Jam to clothing woven of spider silk, is in these-" she patted the nearest bag, grinning. "-bags." Legolas groaned, hiding his face in one hand, and Aragorn began glancing from one to the other and back. What…?

Éowyn wiggled her eyebrows.

"Someone has a crush on Elrond, it seems." She said as she collected her bags and hurried to were the rest of the Company was gathering. With a groan Legolas followed her.

"Please, don't remind me." he fell in step with Éowyn, took most of the bags from her, and helped Boromir and the twins hoisting it onto Hasufel and Arod's backs. Soon they were entering the woods, the horses walking unsteadily under the immense weight of Thranduil's gifts and Thranduil's (fake) daughter, but Aragorn was still in his shadowed corner, eyes round.

*Who* had a crush on *who*?

Oh, my…

He shook himself out of his reverie and hurried in front of the Company, leading the way as always. Beside him was Gandalf, and just behind him Elladan, while Elrohir was last in the file. Arwen and Legolas came after Elladan, and Boromir came after them, leading the horses. Arwen glared briefly at Éowyn, who batted her eyelashes at Boromir from atop Hasufel, she did nothing about it though, upon noticing Legolas's wistful look.

"Are you sad because we said no farewells?" the blonde shrugged.

"Nay, we've known of your arrival for weeks, and thus gave our farewells to our home and dear ones days ago, as to be ready to depart the moment we met but-" he glanced at the Palace, quickly. "-something's missing. My departures from the Castle have never had been so… _quiet_, before." He shrugged it off and with a nod beckoned Arwen to turn. Arwen did so, blinking, and caught Éowyn just as she was convincing Boromir he should mount Hasufel as well and hold her, because she feared she would fall. Arwen hauled dust as she hurried over to them, Legolas skipping out of the way before she could knock him over.

The oblivious Man explained the fake Princess for the umpteenth time that Hasufel could *not* carry both of them and the baggage as well, when he found his arms full of a *very* jealous She-Elf who wanted to be carried because tired.

"*Tired*, Milady?" Boromir asked Arwen, both worried and surprised. No need to say he did not understand at all Arwen was acting out of jealousy.

"*Tired*" Arwen assured, tucking her head under Boromir's chin and smirking up at Éowyn before wrapping her arms around the Man's neck. Boromir found it strange, of course. She'd never ordered him anything like that, but he thought that give in to her occasional whims was part of his duty of Guardian as well. And then again…

…then again, when they would have reached Gondor he'd have to say farewell to her forevermore. Do anything she said for these last few days they'd spend together would hurt no one, would it? With a shrug the Man took the Elf in his arms, oblivious of the murderous look Arwen and Éowyn were sharing behind his back. Legolas laughed, the loveliest sound that could accompany this strange departure, and Aragorn found himself smiling despite the route he'd chose to follow. They'd head due south toward the river Anduin and toward Lothlorien where Galadriel resided. They'd evade the common routes and cross the darkest part of Mirkwood – Morfëataur, the Woods of the Dark Spirits. Estel just hoped that the rumours they'd heard about Elf-eating spirits dwelling in Morfëataur were just that: rumours.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, inside Mirkwood's Castle.

"Oh, and you should have seen how lovely he was when, just 73, he participated to his first Hunting Contest with the adult Elves! 125 Orcs he shot, the precious little thing! *sob* Oh, I'm so glad you're here with me in this hard moment! I knew I could count on you Arwen, and you Boromir, to listen to my pain…

…

…

…

…

…

…

… Arwen?

…

…

… Boromir?

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

… … ... … … … … … … … anyone?"

**TBC **

***grins* I've a cute lil' idea swirling inside my mind for the next chapter… *wiggles eyebrows* how many other than me would like to see Aragorn wanting to take a bath and finding Legolas, nude, in the water? A lot I hope!!! =D*giggles* Can't wait to type that scene down… Oh, and I can't wait to put Gimli & Co. in the story too! If not in chapter 6 then they will make their appearance in chapter 7! =D **


	7. Chapter 07

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 07 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_*pants for breath* I wrote this in a rush, so that I could post this today, which is my friend Christine's birthday! LOL I know you said you did not want a present, but you also said something alone the lines of, "I'd like to read RD ch 7 on my birthday…" so here it is! *hugs you* Happy, happy, happy, happy birthday Chris-chan, by me and (of course) Lafhlain and Morgaer. ;) *wears a party hat and waves a cute flag* _

**_Note 2: _**_Having Ara and Leggy fight like that in the previous chapter was a bit too sudden, wasn't it? But there's a reason if the do, occasionally, fight… ;) _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13_  
  


* * * * *

Two days walking, and the first trees of Morfëataur were already looming around the Company, statuesque and mysterious. From above Morfëataur looked like a stain of dark amidst the green of Mirkwood; a patch of black exhaling dark fumes. From the ground it looked like a cave made of intertwined branches of black, open like a beast's maw. Dark mist had been lapping at the Company's feet since morning, and the more they walked the darker and more silent the forest got. Apprehension had started to seep into Aragorn's heart. He was edgy and high-strung, and his whole mind had narrowed to the task at hand of leading his dear Elf – ehm, dear Company to safety. Dear *Company*. Stupid brain, always slipping whenever Legolas was concerned.

Admittedly, Aragorn regretted choosing such route now, but turning back was never an option, not with Orcs swarming amidst the trees. So taken he was in his own worry that a simple crackling in the woods caused him to start and spun around as if caught in a whirlwind. A reflex deep in his mind made him reach for Andùril, but something gripping suddenly onto his arm prevented him from seizing the sword. When Aragorn looked down, it was to see the top of Legolas's blonde head, his golden hair swinging as the Elf whipped from side to side in alarm.

"What was that?" The Elf whispered urgently, not expecting an answer, nor receiving one: Strider was far too out-of-focus to reply. Aragorn hated it when it happened, but the part of him that always whispered sweet nonsense about Legolas had got its voice back, talked several other mind-parts into it, and was now murmuring about Legolas's hair. Whenever Legolas moved his hair swung like the wings of a dove, or of one of Lòrien's swans, beautiful and soft. It was shiny, like the moonbeams spilling through the clouds after a storm… and so sweet scented, too! Like flowers, and honey and—

A tiny crack behind them made Legolas spin quickly, and his grip on Strider's arm tightened so much that it cut his blood-flow, dragging the Man out of his reverie. As his grip on Strider's arm tightened even more, (if that was possible) Legolas's keen eyes scanned quickly the dark foliage, not unlike a cornered animal readying himself for fight or flight. As his instincts concluded that there was no danger nearby, he appeared to relax, his grip slowly slackening. Aragorn sighed in relief when he felt the blood flowing through his limb again.

"I can't see what made that noise…" Legolas murmured softly. "'tis too… _dark_, here." He said, and shivered slightly at the last word. Strider looked down at him with a glint in his eyes.

"Scared of the darkness?" Legolas instinctively tensed for a moment, his grip on Strider's arm tightening again (making the Man regretting having ever asked). The Elf's head moved slowly from its resting place on the Man's chest, and Legolas blinked up at him with wonder in his eyes. Strider grinned. Legolas looked down at their linked arms. Blinked. Looked up at Aragorn. Blinked. Looked back down at their linked arms, and finally jumped away. Aragorn's arm sang in glee as sensibility started returning to his arm, while the rest of the Ranger's body growled in discontent. Why couldn't that Elf press up to him and *stay* *where* *he* *was* for once?! Either he learned to stay still, or Aragorn would handcuff himself to the Elf, or something. It was getting more and more difficult to pry his thoughts away from the blonde Elf, Aragorn realized. Even thought Legolas quickly moved away each time the two of them touched, the Legolas-fan part of Aragorn's mind kept acquiring supporters with each occasional touch. As his last resort to tame his crush on the Elf, Aragorn began staring at him deeply, trying to find a flaw…

… but Legolas shook his head, an angry flush spreading over his cheeks, and part of Aragorn melted at the sight. Damn. He'd lost count of how many times he'd told himself he wasn't attracted to Legolas during those past two days. Maybe he'd better stop trying altogether and just kidnap Legolas, carry the Elf away to a villa on the seaside and have tens of babies.

No, wait… there was something basically *wrong* in that sentence.

Oh yeah… Elves and Seas are best kept apart, if one wants a solid relationship. Maybe a small house by the beautiful Shire?

Aragorn shook his head clear and Legolas, mistaking the gesture, flushed even darker.

"It's true!" he said, flipping his hair back nonchalantly. "I'm not scared of the darkness… I just don't like it… much. Yeah. We Elves are not meant for walking the darkness. We're meant to live in light and open spaces. That's all." Aragorn's eyebrows rose, and when Legolas caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes he whipped away, but if it was to hide a blush or rather a scowl we do not know.

"There are other Elves here, and it seems to me that they are managing just well." Aragorn replied slowly. At this Legolas turned, a smirk on his beautiful, full, kissable and luscious lips. (Aragorn scowled at his brain for even suggesting such adjectives)

"Just well?" he sing-sang, chuckling to himself. Legolas glanced away, and following his gaze Strider found his knees almost failing him.

Behind the always-smoking Gandalf he saw Boromir walking, stumbling and limping as he went, eyes flat and sweat dripping from his face. In his arms was Arwen, looking around wildly, wide-eyed and almost frightened. Her countenance was that of a deer cornered by a predator, and at the smallest noise she'd hide her face against the Man's broad chest, squealing, only to look around again when the noise ceased.

"It's *dark*!" she kept whimpering softly, a scared child in her mentor's arms. To his account we must admit that Boromir *had* tried a couple of times to squeeze and comfort the poor thing, but he'd given up soon, noticing it was downright *impossible* to move his arms *at all* while Elladan and Elrohir each gripped one, eyes wide as they surveyed the dark greenery.

"It's," One twin often began, and "Dark!" the other would finish, over and over. And whenever a noise reached their ears, it resulted in twin grips that cut all blood-flow to both the Man's arms. Lastly, sprawled across the Man's back, not really scared but doing a good job at pretending, was Éowyn, who kept interjecting pleased sighs to her fake scared whimpers as she snuggled closer to the Man's warmth.

"Yeah, dark. And whatever they're saying. Mh-mh."

"Hmm… maybe not so well," Aragorn conceded with a cough, and Legolas smirked at him, pleased for his small victory. The Ranger looked around, noticing for the first time they'd stopped in a small clearing, easy to defend if need ever came and protected from the weather by strong ancient trees. He surveyed the Company, fighting the urge to chuckle at the Elves dangling from Boromir like fruits from a tree, and gestured vaguely to their surroundings. "What about setting camp here? We could build up a fire and--" He'd just finished saying the word 'fire' that the twins both were at his feet, lighting up a fire in record time. Aragorn blinked, staring in amazement at the leaping flames. "I'll take that as a resounding 'yes'."

* * * * *

"You're so foolish! I can't believe you lead fou-*five*-" Remember Éowyn, Legolas, remember Éowyn. "-Elves to Morfëataur, you JERK!" Legolas yelled, fists frozen at his sides. Aragorn stood before him, and suddenly seemed taller than usual, prouder. Those who recognized the one on his face as the 'I'm the King of Gondor and thus have the right to kick your ass' look whimpered, cowered, and shook their heads pitifully at Legolas.

"Only because you're scared of a stupid fairy-tale, you Elf-boy, that does not mean you can tell me what I can and cannot do!" Legolas screeched angrily.

"Elf-boy?! Watch your mouth, human child! I'm at least 15 times your senior!"

"…said the one who's scared of the darkness!"

"I'm *not*!"

"You are!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No! And stop yelling at me, jerk!"

"As soon as you stop calling me names, childish Elf!"

"Excuse me, mister I'm the_mighty_Leader, but I'm not the one being childish here!"

"I'm not childish!"

"Oooh, and I suppose that leading fou-*five*! Elves to the realm of the Elves-eating Spirit was wise!"

"Don't try to change subject! That's just a tale Elves tell their children to scare them when they misbehave, silly Elf!"

"Don't call me silly!"

"Ooh, now who's being childish?"

"You're just a pathetic human! If we didn't have to travel together to stop the war, I would have never associated myself with the likes of you!"

"This is racism! Why do you ever hate humans?!"

"I don't!" Legolas protested, stomping his foot. "And I've my own reasons!" He spat, remembering his upcoming marriage. Aragorn snorted.

"This is incoherent, Elf-boy!"

"I've had enough! I'll find the Spirit and drag it to you so you'll see who is the child here!" Legolas said and twirled around, stomping off into the woods. Everyone except the already sleeping Éowyn stared after him in shock.

"I'll enjoy watching you drag here thin *air*!" Aragorn yelled, and stomped away in the opposite direction.

The two disappeared from sight simultaneously, and as soon as they did Arwen released a sigh, plopping down onto the log Gandalf and Boromir were sharing.

"This is terrible! Why can't they stop fighting?" She asked, her chin cupped in her hands. Boromir shook his head.

"I don't know, but--" Gandalf removed the pipe from his mouth and blew out some dove-shaped and bell-shaped smoke-rings.

"It's because each fancies the other so much it confuses him, and thus tries to hide his feelings behind a mask of rage." He said slowly. Boromir looked at him as if the wizard had grown a second head, but Arwen's eyes literally lit up.

"So, fighting is their own way of flirting, you mean?" Boromir turned to her, mouth wide to point out how ridiculous that was, when Gandalf's voice behind him made him whip back around in shock.

"Isn't that obvious?"

"But-but-but!" Boromir spluttered, "People who are in love do not fight like *that*!" He said, pointing shakily at the spot where the two soon-to-be husbands had last stood together. Behind him Arwen shrugged, and patted the Man's shoulder before moving toward the campfire and the meat she was burn-ehm, *cooking* there.

"Guess not all couples are harmonized as we are." She called back as she retreated. Boromir's eyes went round. Couple? They? Couple? *They*? They as in, Arwen and Boromir? Arwen the _Undòmiel_ and Boromir the Gondorian Knight? The Elf and the Human? *Couple*?!

No,waitjustamomenthere.

Boromir blinked, turning toward Gandalf with a round mouth.

"Couple? Us? I mean… she thinks… did I let her… I mean…" Gandalf shook his head with something resembling pity in his eyes, patted the Man's shoulder comfortingly and rose, skidding weightlessly outside the clearing. Now alone on the once-crowded log, Boromir turned to stare forward, not really seeing anything.

"Couple? The two of us? Couple? We're not a couple!"

_But what if she thinks we are? But she can't… probably she meant that as 'couple of friends'… _

_… _

_… _

_…why ever comparing us to Estel and Legolas, then? _

_… _

_…maybe she cares for me… I can ask her. Yeah, right. What if she was serious and went in a fit of grief because I asked?! On the other hand she was probably joking. Of course she was! And if I start thinking we are a couple, it could ruin our friendship, so I'd better… _

_Wait… if I take this lightly and be insensible, she'll hate me. But if I take this seriously and she did not mean it, she'll hate me for thinking she could ever care for *me*… _

By the Valar, he was in serious need of some _athelas _here! His head throbbed like crazy and Boromir did not see the end of his headache coming anytime soon. 

_But we never have acted like couples do, have we? Okay, we've walked the riverside under the moonlight when in Lothlòrien, but that does not mean… uhm, we even dinned by candlelight once… or twice. Maybe three times. Make that four. Five. Six. Err…But the twins dine by candlelight as well… *every* day!! Uhm… and the fact she and I go everywhere together does not mean we *date*, does it…? But what if she thinks— _

* * * * * 

Aragorn, Strider, Estel, Longshanks or whatever is the nickname of his you like the more was rushing through the forest, muttering darkly under his breath as he steered through over-grown trees and dangling lianas. That maddening Elf-boy! How could Legolas annoy him so much and yet go under his skin like no one had never –and probably would never- been able to do?! To try and tame his temper Aragorn had sat down on a flat boulder for quite sometime, but he'd soon found himself stomping back and forth like a caged beast. He had soon caught the faint sound of running water, decided a bath was just what he needed to calm down, and started to rush toward the gurgling sound.

He was close now, he realized, and started to tear at his tunic furiously. The Man circled the last barrier that divided him from the water – a behemoth of a tree- and had to fight not to keel over from a heart attack. The little pond there formed was already occupied, and by someone who looked like Legolas.

Double check: a very happy, very wet and very *naked* Legolas.

_If I'm dreaming,_ Aragorn thought, _let's hope I'm in a coma and won't wake up before fifty years or something._ Legolas turned his back on him, and Aragorn's mind reeled.

_Fifty years? Let's make it fifty hundreds instead, and I'll have made the deal of my life. _

He wondered for a moment if he could live that long, but thoughts completely flew from his mind when Legolas gracefully leaped underwater.

_I *said* he had a nice butt, didn't I? Uhn? Uhn?_ He_who_had_not_been_looking_at_Legolas's_butt_before thought.

Legolas, still completely oblivious of the Man's presence, resurfaced, and ran his fingers through his hair. Aragorn had to lean himself against the behemoth-ish tree. Legolas's hands dropped and the Elf moved his fingers slowly across the water, concentric ripples dancing around the tips. As if performing some ancient rite he let water run through his finger, creating waves all around him. He was moving his arms slowly to and fro, looking very much like a child and yet strangely surreal, almost ethereal. Little ephemeral lights danced all around him, floating downward to gently brush the surface of the lake only to waltz heavenwards after a mere, teasing touch. Fireflies they were, and fluttered all around him in a seductive dance, sending iridescent little lights to trace the sensuous lines of his face. Flickers of silver had dyed his hair to a silvery shade, and his skin was magnified to a glistening white, so beautiful it hurt.

Aragorn had never been one easily amazed. He'd grown up with Elves after all, the most beautiful creatures on Middle Earth, and had even shared his childhood with the most exquisite member of that beautiful kin, Arwen his cousin; still, he could not move, or breath, caught as he was in the Legolas's beauty. Moonlight cast a silvery sheen on the ebony water and trees, reflecting off Legolas's body enticingly. Who ever said that Morfëataur was a place of ugliness? They'd never seen Legolas in it. Had they, they would have surely mistaken the dark woods for Valinor itself. The Elf's presence alone elevated the ghastly Morfëataur to a temple of beauty.

Aragorn however, had never been one very respectful fellow, either. He was more inclined to rebel, and usually disrupted sacred moments more than pay homage to them. Misbehave was probably his secret middle name… or 123.795th nickname, pick your choice. With a wicked grin the Man divested himself quickly of his tunic and undershirt and slipped as silent as the Ranger that he was toward the pond. To the records, Legolas *did* hear Aragorn approaching, Ranger or no Ranger. But when the Elf turned toward the noise of leaves crunched underneath Aragorn's foot, he saw nothing but the quickly-disappearing concentring ripples dancing where Aragorn had already dived underwater. The Elf dismissed the ripples as caused by some leaping fish or fallen leaf, and went back to rinsing. He ran his hands up and down his arms quickly, looking as if wanting to scrub his previous anger away from his body.

He ran his fingers across his dripping hair, his hands skipping then down his neck and across his chest before splashing back quietly into the river. Then, a voice came from behind him, a voice at the same time welcome, feared and unexpected.

"Such a lovely place for a midnight bath, isn't it?" Legolas whipped around, and Aragorn was only just inches from him, water dripping down his raven curls and bare chest. Legolas's reaction to the sight was a first-prize one - let's analyse it step after step.

The first effect was to blush brightly, eyes running up and down Aragorn's body as if to make sure he was there and was, indeed, as shirtless and gorgeous as he seemed. Then, once his eyes had somehow managed to leave the sinuous paths the water traced down the Man's muscular body, the Elf opened his mouth, blushing even harder when words would not come. Third stage, Legolas blushed harder still and closed his mouth, settling for glaring at the Man. It wasn't all that effective because the lovely blush negated the murderous glare, but that's beyond the point. Final stage, the unnecessary statement.

"Strider!"

"The one and only." The Ranger grinned smugly, fanning his arms to and fro at his sides like Legolas had done before. Damn, the Elf thought, he'd been caught off-guard by a human! How humiliating! And of all the thousands of humans populating Middle Earth it just *had* to be Strider, hadn't it? Legolas doubted that existed a human who was more irritating, smug, annoying or simply more gorgeous than Str--

Wait.

What was that?

*That* Man… gorgeous?!

…

Oh, please…

…

…

…though, he had to admit, Strider *was* good-looking. Not your average elven beauty, but still… and he always made Legolas feel protected. Wanted. Happy even…

Okay, stop.

Rewound.

Erase the thoughts.

Okay, let's go on.

Legolas turned back around to face the Man and glared at him, though just a bright halo atop his head could have made Strider look more innocent. Legolas opened his mouth, thought better about it and tightened his lips in a thin line. Strider just leaned back and smirked, still creating waves with his spread arms. Legolas just hoped the warmth spreading across his face did *not* mean he was blushing.

**TBC **

**… *bright halo atop her head* Cliff-hanger… aren't I evil? ;) LOL But you'll get more naked and wet Legolas this way… **


	8. Chapter 08

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 08 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_I'm rising the story's rating from PG-13 to R from this chapter on, but if you're expecting a sex scene between Legolas and Aragorn to justify this change… well, don't kill me, but will find none. Not in this chapter, at least. *winks* _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

As he stared at Strider's tanned body gloriously bathed in moonlight, Legolas had to remember himself over and over that man was the most annoying creature on Eä, and that he simply hated him. Abhorred even. Loathed. Despised. Detested. And the list was long.

Just when the Elf was an inch from convincing himself he did *not* fancy Strider *at all* and that whoever dared to state the opposite was a fool, a liar and would meet Legolas's wrath, Strider waded backwards to the small waterfall bubbling in a forgotten corner. Eyes never leaving Legolas's, he stepped under it and let water splash over him, mix with moonlight and dapple on his flexing muscles.

"Want to join me?" Aragorn said slowly, unfastening casually the strings of his breeches. *Damn tease* Legolas concluded with yet another blush.

"I'm fine just right where I'm now, thankyouverymuch." Strider shrugged, droplets raising from his hair, and Legolas hunched his shoulders instinctively, modestly covering himself. *That* caught Strider's attention. The Man stopped stripping, much to Legolas's relief (and profound disappointment at the same time) and made his way to the flushed Elf, his arms creating waves at his sides. Once he was few inches from the Elf he stopped, and regarded the blonde inquisitively, head cocked to one side.

"…what?" Legolas asked after a minute, growing more and more nervous with each second. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and sank a little underwater, his arms crossed in front of his body, as he became acutely aware of his nudity.

Coming from an Elf such shyness was astounding – it was no less surprising than frogs raining from the sky. Elves, you must know, are incredibly open-minded. They're not ashamed of nudity at all, considering clothes mere disguises that mask one's true self. Had it been anyone *but* Strider standing there in front of him, half-naked and wet, Legolas was sure he wouldn't have reacted so oddly. Yet he felt so strangely embarrassed that he wanted to hide his nudity from the Man. He feared, at some deep level, that Strider might find his nude body less appealing than he did its clothed version. Slowly he retreated, but his runaway had a short life, because of the boulder protruding from the water just two steps behind the Elf.

"Legolas?" Aragorn queried, one eyebrow raised in pure Elrond-style. Legolas only mumbled a small reply, looking anywhere but at Strider. "Are you ashamed?" Legolas mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Of course not," but it had come out muffled because the Elf had kneeled down so much that water bubbled in front of him when he spoke. Aragorn knelt in front of him, and ran a hand through Legolas's hair comfortingly, almost worried at the Elf's reaction. He knew such shyness to be atypical for Elves, and feared something he'd done had upset the Elf so deeply that he felt the need to recoil from him.

At the Man's touch Legolas looked shakily up from his own reflection, and Strider chuckled gently at the blush colouring the high cheekbones.

"Come on, Legolas. 'Tis no place or time for shyness - it's not like you've got anything I haven't seen before." He said. Legolas glared in response, but the Elf was such a sexy thing when glaring, that Aragorn didn't mind the display of enmity at all. In truth, it made him happy whenever he was able to put an expression different from sorrow on that fair face. Quiet sadness suffused through Legolas's face each time he gazed at the approaching lands of Gondor, azure and misty at the horizon. It was as if his doom was expecting him in those lands, and Aragorn had found himself hating the lingering sadness not even him could tear from the Elf's eyes.

"If this can be of any consolation to you," the Man added, his eyes sparkling even as his tone was conversational, "I must admit you look a lot better naked then I imagined you would." Legolas gaped at him for a moment, mouth wide, and found himself torn between blushing at the compliment and yelling in rage because it seemed the Man *had* imagined him naked.

"Thanks, I guess." He said at last, slowly coming to his feet. Aragorn moved up with him, and found his hands laying each on one of Legolas's shoulders. The Elf's arms were still draped protectively around his body, but a smile was slowly finding its way over his lips. Strider took that as a token of peace, and before he could think better about it, he leaned down and touched his lips to Legolas's forehead in the whisper of a kiss.

"Good Elf." He mock-complimented, a rumbling chuckle escaping him. Thoughtful, Legolas rubbed gently the spot where the Man's kiss still burned, before raising his head a little, regarding Strider oddly through his lashes.

"What's with you and kissing me, anyway?" He demanded, and the Man blinked, resembling, in Legolas's opinion, a newborn owl.

"Uh?"

"When we first met." Legolas reminded him. "You kissed me."

"Oh." He blinked. "OH! Yeah. That. Well, that… that was the Kiss of Friendship." He shrugged. Legolas just stared at him, unyielding blue eyes narrowed slightly. "It's a tradition of my kin - you wouldn't understand it."

"Well, I'm eager to. Explain. Now." Aragorn looked down, unable to meet Legolas's eyes

any longer, yet the motion made them closer, their chests almost touching, now.

"Uhm… it's just a custom of the Dùnedains, nothing more." He lied quietly, not really looking forward at admitting to the Elf (and to himself) he'd kissed Legolas without reasons other than his own desire and the Elf's incredible beauty.

"So, if I ever get to know the other members of your kin I'll have to kiss all of them?" Aragorn thought about it a little, decided he didn't like the option of Legolas kissing someone who wasn't him, and shook his head fervently.

"NO! I-I mean, no, It doesn't work quite like that." Legolas kept staring. "The Dùnedains give you The Kiss, not the other way round. And it's a token of their desire to gain your trust and friendship, so not everyone gets it."

"Oh. So each time I'll be polite with a Dùnedain he'll probably kiss me?" This time the picture was of Legolas being assaulted and smothered with kisses by Strider's fellow Dùnedains. The Man swayed a little at the thought.

"Dùnedains? Did I say Dùnedains? Tee-eeh, my mistake. I meant *the* Dùnedain. The Chieftain of our kin." Legolas cocked his head to one side, his arms slid from around his torso, and he clasped his hands behind him, leaning forward with a pleased grin.

"You, in other words."

"Err… yes." Still smiling, Legolas let out a sigh and shook his head, blonde hair swirling.

"I've never, ever, in my long life heard a lie so poorly conceived, Strider." Aragorn gave his shoulders a shrug.

"Well, I tried."

"And failed miserably." Familiar irritation began bubbling at the bottom of Aragorn's stomach and with a growl he yanked Legolas even closer.

"Do you want me to say I kissed you just because I wanted to? Well okay. I did. There. Happy now? But you too didn't seem to have anything against kissing me, I recall." Legolas's eyes narrowed to dangerous, tiny slits.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, either you subconsciously want me so much you let me to kiss you, or either you're such a pathetic Elf that you can't even overpower a simple human."

"You JERK!" Legolas yelled indignantly, only now realizing he was still in the Ranger's embrace, and wrenched out of it rather violently. "You just caught me off guard!"

"It seems awfully easy to do that." Aragorn hissed back quietly. Legolas looked ready to kill.

"And I suppose no *one* ever catches *you* off-guard, you mighty leader?!" He snorted. Strider straightened, shoulders thrown back in pride, and gave his head a slight toss.

"Ever."

That did it. From now on Aragorn would remember it's not clever to fight with an Elf when he's glaring murderously at you, pride hurt. Especially if that Elf was Legolas. Had they been in another situation, a battle for example, Aragorn would already have an elven dagger protruding from some rather soft part of his body… luckily, they were not in another situation, surely not into a battle, and what happened afterwards was *really* enjoyable for Aragorn, even thought it taught him to never test an Elf's temper.

Before he could utter a second word, Aragorn had his back pressed to the cold and wet boulder, while Legolas's body was warm against his own. He tried to move his arms, but found his wrists held securely above his head, each held with bruising force within one of Legolas's own fists. At first Aragorn was, as one would expect him, enraged. Furious for being deceived and overpowered so easily, and mortified at his inability of freeing himself. He started struggling, but that resulted in Legolas pinning him harder against the boulder. Aragorn stilled immediately when Legolas pressed himself against him, and when warm breath wafted across his lips as Legolas leaned closer, smirking, it was a wonder that the Man's knees kept supporting him.

"It seems I did manage to catch you off-guard, after all." Legolas cooed, eyes glinting. "Do I get a reward for that?"

"I don't know." Aragorn replied slowly, surprised at the huskiness in his own voice. "I went further than just grabbing your wrists, after all." Legolas's eyes grew wide, aware finally of the positions they were in, of Aragorn's chest warm against his own and of the Man's face few inches from his. The Elf could nothing to stop the shiver that rushed down his body.

_By the Valar, Legolas, what are *you* doing?!_ He asked himself, and the only answer he found as he leaned closer to the Man, was that he was going to forget good sense and do exactly what his instincts told him. Just as he leaned down Strider crabbed his neck and leaned up, lips slightly parted, and their breaths mingled, hot and moist, between their mouths. No, Legolas did not care anymore if he was to wed someone else in a few days. This once, just for this once, he would forget his duty as the Prince and allow his heart to command him…

* * * * *

Meanwhile, at the camp…

_…Let's suppose she *do* think we are a couple. Would it mean I lead her on? But we never did anything even remotely like what lovers would do! Uhm… does this mean I've been a bad mate, then? If I've been, Lord Elrond will get my head… _

_… _

_…but if she doesn't think we are a couple and I start acting like we were engaged, Lord Elrond will get my head nevertheless… if she doesn't get it first. Not to mention the twins. Hm… right, I could ask them for advice… but what if they got it the wrong way? Maybe they too think of us as a couple, and will be offended at my asking? I could ruin for ever the relationship between Rivendell and Gondor! _

_… _

_…on the other hand, they could be one good help… _

_… _

_…given that they won't get my head for just *thinking* Arwen would look my way. Uhmm… _

_Estel! I could ask Estel… _

_… _

_…if he can stop fighting with Legolas long enough to even *notice* it if I talk to him… _

_… _

_…maybe I could ask the Lady Éowyn? Uhm… _

* * * * *

Meanwhile, inside Mirkwood's Castle…

"And he was 237 when he received his first proposal. Obviously he heed it not, mostly because I would not let him marry the daughter of the Castle's Confectioner, not matter how good his Strawberry Cakes are. I suspect though, his refusal was partly because he could not stand the very sight of her – another pastry, my dear Eagle?"

"*Squee!*"

* * * * *

Meanwhile, inside Rivendell's Castle…

ZZzzzzzzZZZZz… Estel my boy, stop practicing with your sword inside the Palace… you'll end up breaking something… ZZzzzZZZZzzzz…Oh, no! Thranduil's gift… ZzzzzZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzz…

Uhm… better leave Elrond to his dreams.

* * * * *

Back to Aragorn and Legolas…

Legolas's mouth hovered above Strider's enticingly, but would not descend on it. Not yet. It was pure torment for the Man, but an enjoyable one. He'd craned his neck to try and catch the Elf's mouth, but he could not stand the position anymore. His head dropped against the boulder with a loud thud, and Legolas followed him, blowing softly across the Man's mouth.

"So you imagined me naked, Ranger?" He murmured, his lips teasingly brushing the Ranger's own with each word. Caught, Strider tried his best not to break into cold sweat.

"Uhm… once, maybe." Legolas tilted his head, a glint in his eyes, as his smile slowly broadened.

"Just once? I'm offended! I thought I'd rule your every dream by now." Aragorn blinked at him.

"Well, you do. But you're usually dress-" Strider paled. _Damn.My.Clumsy.Self._ Legolas burst into laughter at the look of pure horror on the Man's face.

"Caught!" The Elf said between giggles. Strider groaned, (or whimpered, he wasn't actually sure) in his frustration, and Legolas smirked, leaning down enough to trace the Man's bottom lip with his mouth, settling once again for merely teasing him.

"Oh, screw this!" Came the sudden yell from the bushes on the river bank. "Kiss him already!" Aragorn and Legolas's heads jerked up and to a side, just in time to see an enraged Elladan surface from amidst said bushes and whack behind the head his twin, who, considering he still had his hands cupped around his mouth, was the voice's owner.

"Elrohir!" The older twin hollered fiercely. Forgotten and frozen in place, Aragorn and Legolas watched on as the twins bickered, barely blinking for the surprise.

The twins stood glaring at each other, Elladan on his feet and with his arms crossed across his chest, while Elrohir remained crouched, sulkily rubbing his offended nape.

"What?" the younger twin muttered gloomily, his expression sulky. Elladan pointed a menacing finger to his brother's nose and hissed angrily:

"You have absolutely *no* tact whatsoever! What have I taught you about intruding into people's personal matters?!"

"But…" Elrohir pouted cutely, an expression he'd learned from his human cousin to use each time he wanted something, or simply needed to be forgive no matter what he had done. He tilted his head, batting his eyelashes outrageously. Elladan instinctively retreated a half-step, but his finger remained hovering few inches from Elrohir's nose-tip. "He was taking ages!"

"You should have not revealed yourself, though." Elladan protested, enraged that his brother had intruded, but completely at ease with the fact them both had been spying on their cousin. Elrohir leaped to his feet, bouncing a little on his toes. He was still pouting.

"You're saying this only because if they do not kiss you'll have won the bet!" Elladan snorted indignantly, whipping around with his arms crossed.

"Aragorn's not going to kiss Legolas. He knows better than that." Elrohir's smirk lit up the night.

"It's not my fault if Legolas turns Aragorn on more than his fiancée ever will!" That (or the annoying pokes that had accompanied his words) gained him another whack behind his head.

"Elrohir!!"

"What?!" The younger twin pouted. Then, a look of horror on his face, he turned toward the river and swallowed soundly, his lips twitching as he tried to smile. With choreographic synchrony each twin raised one hand in wave, twin (and fake) innocent looks plastered on their faces.

"Uhm… we can explain." they said as one. Neither Legolas nor Aragorn were paying attention to them anymore tough, busy as they were staring into each other's eyes. An eternity seemed to pass before Aragorn found his voice back; and when he spoke, it was shaky and low.

"Legolas… let me explain." Legolas's blue eyes turned to ice, daring Aragorn to go on and yet telling him exactly what would be of him if he did.

"I'm listening." The Elf said deadly slowly, looking no different from a snake seizing its prey. Aragorn swallowed convulsively, his mind racing to find a good excuse.

"I-It's not what it may look like. My fiancée…" He'd said a word too much it seemed, because in an instant he found himself soaring into the air with his arms flailing, and crashed down soundly on the twins (who'd be running in circles in panic, but still hadn't ran away.).

"Of *course* It's not what it looks like!" Legolas hollered from the water. "It *did* look like I wanted to kiss you, didn't I? Well, that was *NOT* it!" He flipped his hair angrily from his shoulder and swam away. A hand on his forehead Aragorn tried to pick himself up, but he stopped when he caught glimpse of Legolas's pale body amidst the dark foliage on the other bank. Mindless of the twins struggling and grunting under his weight Aragorn stopped in adoration, only to flinch when Legolas's enraged yell reached him.

"If you will excuse me, I've a deadly Spirit to find DÙNEDAIN! See you if *I* care! Maybe on your wedding day!" At loss of what to do, Aragorn flopped back down on his twins-cushions and let out a sigh. He listened distantly to the Elvish curses sent at him from underneath his body, until, after a numbers of those (mixed with general threats of death and detailed descriptions of what would be done to his body if he didn't move) his eyes narrowed. What he murmured then made the twins freeze.

"I give you three seconds of advantage. Start running and do that fast, because if I get you, I kill you." The second he finished saying it the twins had disappeared from under him and Aragorn bumped back down on the forest-floor. He laid there, wet and shirtless, staring at the unfeeling black sky and feeling as cold as he knew he never would.

Alas! If just his betrothed was Legolas instead of Éowyn! Then his dreams of having tens of miniature Legolas and miniature Aragorn playing gaily in the gardens of a house of their own would become reality…

But that was impossible…

…

…wasn't it?

* * * * *

Meanwhile, inside the refuge of Morfëataur's Spirits… (yes, they really exist!)

A bell had been ringing since morning, vibrating and echoing through the dark cave they called Headquarter and, let's admit it, making a noise that would wake the dead. Sitting in the middle of said cave with his legs in a crouch, one of Morfëataur's Spirits was trying at the same time to:

a) clamp his ears shut with his hands, b) flip the pages of the book he had on his lap, and c) not to be splattered in a bloody heap under the book's noticeable weight.

"Uhm… It should be here somewhere… damn… I know it *means* something when this blasted bell sets off…" the Spirit grumbled unspeakably things under his breath in… ehy, wait just a second, was that Elvish? Mh, surely seems like it.

The Spirit kept grumbling and searching the book for some more minutes, completely unaware of the fellow Spirits tapping his shoulder.

"Ehy…" no response. "Ehy…" again, no response. "EHY!!!" surprise, surprise. No response. The second Spirit, of darker colouring than the other, and surely with shorter temper, cupped his hands around his mouth and leaning against the other Spirit's ear, yelled:

"EHY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The paler Spirit jumped out of his skin, threw the book in the air, whirled around, gaped, gasped, went rolling down the seat he was in and across the room, felt the book land on him and, as a final point, spluttered. And all in less than ten seconds! Wow! Mere humans can't do that, but ehy, we never claimed that Morfëataur's Spirits were human, did we?

"What.Was.That.For?" He spluttered, hurt, and looking up he found that his companion had crawled on the back of his seat, waving and grinning innocently down at him.

"The Boss wants to know why the heck the bell's ringing!" The Spirit picked himself up and grabbed the book, seeming ready to throw it to his companion, (that's what he was trying to find out, dammit!) when his eyes fell on the page the book had opened itself up. He gave out a squeal and dashed away, almost knocking his companion over in his rush. The Headquarter's corridors were long and winding, like tunnels of a mole's hole, but the Spirit knew them all by heart, and reached his destination in no time. Unfortunately, as soon as he stepped onto the first of the five steps leading into the Meeting Room he tripped, and fell down the small flight of steps, yelling one word each time he collided with it.

"Intruders!" Bump. "Into." Bump. "Our." Bump. "Forest!" A less than perfect landing on the Control room's floor. The Spirits there gathered all leaped to their feet, and began running around in what could seem, to an untrained eye, just disorganized panic. In truth it was more of a very choreographic ballet than anything, but that may be just a pretence.

For the longest of moments the commotion seemed impossible to tame. The Spirits of Morfëataur ran around aimlessly; some screamed, some bounced, some hid themselves, while two of them just tried to slip away quietly and hide from the upcoming reaction of their Boss. No luck. A tougher Spirit, shorter and stouter than the others, rose from the seat he'd been burrowed in, grabbed the two by the collars of their shirts and strode out of the room, low growls coming from deep within his throat.

"Getcher arse up an' follou me, ya all! No bloody outsida'll cross our woods as long as *I* am the rula 'ere! C'mon, littla ones! For our Lady!!" The two Spirits he was clutching dropped their heads dejectedly and allowed their Boss to drag them along, sharing a long, worried look as they went. Their companions followed after them, cheering and leaping.

The First Spirit leaped to his feet as well, eager to follow, but the book he'd let go during his fall had other plans – it landed on him with a resounding 'thud', sandwiching him against the floor. He made no move to rise this time, just cupping his cheek with one hand and drumming his other hand's fingers on the floor.

"Someone up there *really* hates me and is having one hell of a good time right now." The other Spirit, having followed him, bounced on top of him, giggling delightedly as he played Rohan-Knight and horses with his cousin.

"You're so silly."

"It's *star-crossed*, Pip. *Star-crossed*"

"If you say so."

**TBC **

***looks the chapter over and notices what exactly has happened between Aragorn and Legolas* Uhm… *hides behind Legolas* Don't kill me… *peeks from behind our favourite Mirkwood Prince* please? *ducks behind Legolas again* **

**  
**


	9. Chapter 09

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 09 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_Yup, yup, it may seem strange but the twins do not know that Legolas is the real Heir of Mirkwood while Éowyn is just a fake (even if they *must* have noticed that she's not an Elf). Legolas is the son of their Father's best friend, but they have never seen him before: Elladan and Elrohir have spent millennia in the wilderness, hunting Orcs and seldom sending tidings back home. When Legolas was born they heard it by chance, and just sent a missive to wish the newborn Elfling all happiness. Legolas grew up and became a close friend of Arwen even though most of their meeting happened when their Fathers came up with one of their 'plans' to defeat Sauron. Elladan and Elrohir were still living in the wild then, and would not revolutionize their travelling plans by going to Mirkwood, let alone to take part in one of the Lords' odd plans. However, they did hear of the friendship between their baby sister Arwen and the heir of Mirkwood, the beautiful 'Aurêl', and blessed it. But like many before (and after) them, they thought a creature beautiful enough to be compared to the Morning Star was surely a maiden. Then, when they finally returned in Rivendell to stay, it was because Estel/Aragorn was bought there. It happened few decades before the beginning of this story, when Mirkwood was already infested with Orcs and any contact between it and Rivendell had stopped. Centuries and centuries had passed since Arwen and Elrond last met Legolas and Thranduil, and the King and his Heir were rarely even mentioned. *pauses* Let's call it a long series of coincidences, but the result is that the twins truly believe Legolas to be a mere archer… -_-() _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

Legolas had lost track of time as he stomped through Morfëataur, muttering darkly under his breath as he went. It could have been hours as well as mere moments – enraged as he was he surely hadn't cared to count the minutes. He steered mindlessly through over-grown trees and dangling lianas, navigating through tree-roots and bushes as though racing against wind. Quick he was, yet his steps weren't light and soundless as one would expect – and his vocal chords weren't idle either. The two things together resulted in a clamour that could wake the dead, but that still hadn't fulfilled its primary purpose – allure the Spirits to him so that he could give his brain and body something more constructive to do other than yelling and tramping around aimlessly.

"Show yourself, oh Mighty Spirit of Morfëataur! Are you scared of one of those very Elves you're rumoured to eat? Come out and have a taste of my flesh, I dare you!" He yelled even as he shoved a low branch out of his way rather violently, the leaves upon it rustling and quivering as if scared of him. Birds and little animals that usually would search his company ran away as he drew near, sensing it wasn't clever to approach a fuming Elf as he, especially if he was looking for something to vent his rage –Sadness? Hurt?- on.

"Come out, dammit! I've a human to teach a lesson to!" As soon as he'd voiced the very reason of his anger and frustration, Legolas's fists clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his every thought focused on the abovementioned human.

Okay, Strider was engaged. So? Life still went on. The Moon still gave way to the Sun at dawn to come back and dominate the sky at night. Still, it stung. And to think that Legolas had been so close to kiss him… The Elf's fists clenched, and his lovely voice raised of yet another octave. In truth it wasn't all that lovely raised to an angered cry as it was, but to his account we must admit it usually was adorable.

"That… that… that… human scum! How dares he deceive me?! He's engaged, the jerk… ENGAGED!" He snapped at an innocent squirrel who had made the mistake of not stepping away from his path in time. The poor thing bowed profusely in apology before dashing away as fast as it could, all a quiver with fear. Legolas flipped his hair angrily from his shoulder and stomped forward, an angry flush on his cheeks. "Ah! But I'll tech him! No *one* plays tricks with me and walks away unpunished. NO ONE!" He fumed, then snorted, pausing briefly to choose his route as the road diverged into two separate paths. Option one: gay and merry clearing bathed in Moonlight on the right or, option two: an obscure patch of dark trees, whose branches intertwined and melted in a dark ceiling far too short for comfort, on the left.

Obviously, Legolas choose option two, and stomped noisily onto the dark tunnel.

"I can't believe I almost kissed him! I hate him! I can't stand the very sight of him anymore! … … … I could *never* stand it to start with! Umph. I'll tech him, I will. Ah! He thinks he's so clever he can deceive me, right? I'll show him who's the clever of us! I'll find the Spirit and drag it to him just as I told him! He'll have to drop on his knees and beg forgiveness! I'll make him realize that I'm ten times better than him or that cursed fiancée of his, and then we'll *see* if he *won't* love me back---" Legolas stopped abruptly in mid-step, swallowing convulsively. He remained in silence for a small eternity, eyes round. He did not dare to move, not even to place his foot on the ground and finish his half step and just swallowed again, his breathing brisk. He hadn't said what he thought he had… had he? He ran that sentence through his mind again. It was still the same the second time round.

"…Oh, *no*…" he groaned at last, finishing indeed his step and feeling his shoulders slump. That wasn't happening… not to him… not now… *not* Strider, damn it! He plopped down on a near rock, head bowed low, and all the animals who'd ran away before exited their refuges. Sniffling and gazing at him as they went they huddled around Legolas and stared. The scared-looking squirrel from before scampered onto the Elf's back and patted his shoulder reassuringly, his minute lips pushed forward in a sad look, but no one else moved. The animals all listened as the Elf groaned, their petite heads tipping from one side to the other and back, before sharing quizzical glances. The Elf was moody and loud, not to mention an intruder; and one who had disturbed their sleep, destroyed many of their houses' entrances while stomping around, and scared most of their cubs at that. Yet he was a pretty thing, a true delicacy to the eye – and that alone made them decide that they could catch a nap the day after; that the half-crumbled entrances of their houses looked trendy and not half-bad; that their cubs needed some strong emotions from time to time, if they were indeed scared; and that yes, they definitely should help such a babe. The problem was, anyway, *how*. But seeing how lost the Elf was in his thoughts, they should have time to come up with something.

Presently, Legolas's thoughts ran along the lines of, "This isn't happening", "Why me?", "Why him?", "Why now?" and "Elbereth, I'm a fool." We're inclined to agree with the latter, but just because, lost as he was pitying himself, Legolas didn't notice the dark fog surrounding him and the animals all scampering away in fear until it was too late.

* * * * *

Elladan and Elrohir spotted what they thought would be their only shield and salvation from, virtually, miles. As soon as they reached the rings of trees surrounding the camp, they lunged for it; and the 'it' in question was no other than Boromir (who was, the twins noted detachedly, walking toward Arwen tentatively, yet wearing the determined look of one walking to his last dinner before death). Elladan and Elrohir grabbed each one of his arms and hid behind him, the one they knew could tame Estel's wrath some, and looked around in quiet panic. Noticing them Arwen approached the three quietly, a glint in her eyes.

"You got Estel angry at you, didn't you?" Elladan stopped swirling his head around long enough to nod at her, and then cowered behind Boromir when a noise came from the surrounding woods. Luckily (or maybe unluckily: in truth the jury is still voting) it wasn't Aragorn, but Éowyn, who, waking up to see the twins attached to Boromir, seized the occasion to attach herself to the man as well.

"Where's the danger? Uh? Uh? Uh?" she demanded, whipping her head around in time with the twins' as she jumped on Boromir's back and squeezed his neck. The Man groaned, a hand on his forehead, and Arwen, (ELBERETH!) did nothing else but chuckle a little, covering her mouth politely behind her hand. Boromir looked at her through his lashes, the wonderful Elf with the name and light of the evening star, and found his throat run dry. She noticed his discomfort and smiled at him, head tilted.

"What?" She demanded softly, as Boromir gathered every ounce of his courage to finally clear *what* bounded them.

"Arwen," the Elven Lady tilted her head to the other side, blinking up at the Man in wonder. It had always been 'Milady' before. "Arwen, I--" he began, only to stop abruptly when a fourth weight landed on him, yelling and brandishing his sword wildly in the air. Boromir *tried* to wave his arms and regain the equilibrium so suddenly lost. He *tried* not to trip and fall down. Just as he *tried*, when he felt himself fall, not to drag Arwen with them. The result of all his trying was that Boromir landed at Arwen's feet, with the twins on top of him and a very, very, very, *VERY* pissed off Estel above them, all of them tangled in a cursing heap. Well, one success out of three – a good result, if you ask me.

"Say your prayers to the Valar, because I'm sending you directly to Valinor!"

"Aragorn wait! We can explain!"

"Of course we can! It's all-" he pointed a finger to his brother's face "-Elladan's fault!"

"ELROHIR!!"

"What?! It's true!"

"It's not!"

"Of course it is!"

"I don't care whose is the fault! I *kill* you both!" the twins and Aragorn kept wrestling, yelling and rolling around, using Boromir very much like a combat ring, as the Man let himself be stomped upon, his face still against the ground. What had he done to deserve this, he wondered. He ran all the Valar's name in his head, and when he couldn't find any he could have annoyed of late, he merely run the list by his mind again and again and again, sure that there *must* be something he was guilt of, if he was being punished in such a way.

"…I just wanted to ask her…" he groaned in the grass.

"What about?" Came the sweet voice, and suddenly Boromir found his hand held loosely in both Arwen's as she tried to help him up. Boromir's head snapped up, and his mind went in sudden shortage, allowing him to do nothing more than stare. Rolling her eyes, but doing so good-naturedly, the she-Elf kneeled in front of him, grinning at the funny imitation of a fish he made, smart enough to keep her laughter at bay. Boromir took a deep breath in, counted up to ten, breathed again, decided he'd better count up to ten again (just to be sure) and opened his mouth.

"Arwen…"

…but just as he said it, Éowyn (who had rolled off the Man's back when Aragorn had pushed him on the ground) appeared next to Arwen, elbowed the other woman away, and pursed her lips at the Ranger who had interrupted her idyll. Boromir fell face-first in the grass again, groaning lowly. Seeing the results he got, maybe he'd better stop trying. Living in exile somewhere in the wilderness for having disrupted the relationship between Estel's two homelands had never been one of his secret dreams, but he was sure he could cope – he was a strong man after all. A good escort of _athelas _by his side and he became, virtually, invincible. *Virtually*.

"I *hope*," the fake Princess said irritably whilst wrenching Arwen's hands away from Boromir's own in a rather rough manner, "That you can explain the reasons of your rude behaviour, Ranger." Aragorn looked up from where he was pulling Elrohir's hair, and froze Éowyn in her spot with a flaming look.

"Of course I can, Milady." He replied, grabbing a strand of Elladan's hair and pulling the other twin to him as well. "Those two idiots made Legolas run away-" He barely finished saying it that Elladan had disappeared from his grasp, being now pinned to the floor by a hopping mad Éowyn, who had grabbed the Elf's tunic in her hands and was shaking him up and down as she straddled him.

"I'll kill you, I will! Where *is* Legolas?!" Before Elladan could reply or die of lack of oxygen (but when he had already turned an amusing shade of grey), his salvation came. The bad part was that what saved him was an enemy attack. Or at least something that looked like, but was not quite, an attack.

With an hissing sound dark fog rose from the ground in pillars. It surrounded them, black and sluggish, obscuring the sky and sneaking through their feet like dark water. The air became humid and heavy, suddenly smelling like rotten fruit and wilting flowers. The hissing sound escalated to shrieking highs, bubbling and roaring like the falls of Rauros. It was soon joined by the noise of leafs rustling, which came from all directions at once. Immediately Aragorn and the twins sprang apart and readied their weapons, keen eyes scanning the darkened greenery. The three instinctively placed themselves around Éowyn when she gave a small cry of alarm. Her attention was not on the attack or her safety anymore, though: she had spotted Legolas's bow abandoned in a corner, which meant the lost Prince was probably defenceless.

Small footsteps clattered on the ground around them from all directions, growing closer and then retreating without so much as a glimpse of the creatures surrounding them showing. Éowyn had just enough time to grab Legolas's bow and a handful of arrows when the real attack began. Flying rocks probably, but whatever it was, Ellladan was hit between his shoulder blades, while Boromir, who was bravely shielding the weapon-less Arwen, was hit on his thigh. The fog became denser, making it impossible to see the ground or the sky. Hasufel and Arod whinnied in fear, Aragorn's stallion rising to his back legs and flailing his front hoofs wildly in the air. Elrohir made his way to the beasts, but just then something sneaked at their feet, small and incredibly quick, and he and Arwen both got their legs injured.

"What in the name of Ilûvatar is *this*?" Arwen asked, placing a hand on Boromir's shoulder to steady herself. The responding growl made her ashen.

"The Spirits of Morfëataur." Aragorn cursed, backing away by reflex until Éowyn was hidden safely between his back and a huge tree – crush on Legolas or not, she was still his betrothed. She was not unable to protect herself though, and the proud stance she was in, bow drawn and arrow ready, proved it. She cursed quietly when she found no target, and her thoughts flew briefly on the Prince she should have protected.

"Where are them?" She hissed, and Elladan was quick to answer her this time, even if no help came from his words.

"All around us." He started. "Yet, no one's here." Elrohir nodded.

"I sense tens of enemies around us."

"And yet none." Arwen finished. Éowyn just muttered another curse, casting a quick, jealous glance at Arwen – how come the she-Elf got to press herself against Boromir's back while she had to stand the annoying Ranger and the idiot Elf who'd made Legolas run pressing up against *her*? That wasn't *fair*!

The attacks continued, exhausting and stressing them to their limits. Then, suddenly, all was quiet. The leafs stopped rustling as if the invisible wind stirring them had died down. Then a small voice, like that of a child, came.

"Go away, and we'll spare your lives." It said seriously.

"Never!" Aragorn growled, and raised Andùril just in time to block the rock thrown at him from an unknown direction. Again steps resounded around and amongst them, but no enemy came into sight, much to Aragorn's (and Andùril's) displeasure. The voice came again, and intimated them to retreat, but this time, to their astonishment, it did so in the sweet Elven tongue, softly. Aragorn growled again in response, slashing some bushes through with Andùril.

"What do you want with us?!" The voice merely sneered at him.

"Ah! You won't trick me into admitting we wish you to leave Morfëataur before you can discover its secret!" Beat. "Damn." Aragorn would have dropped Andùril and hid his face in his palms at the utter *idiocy* of their opponents, hadn't he needed it to parry yet another flying rock. The upcoming result of the battle seemed inevitable: stressed and annoyed the two male Elves had ran out of arrows or lost their knives, while the two Men were just an inch from dropping their swords in exhaustion. Arwen was unable to help, without her daggers and bow, and Éowyn became useless as well as soon as she shot her last arrow to the nothingness.

_*This*,_ Aragorn thought angrily,_ would be the point where back up *arrives*._

He though it, it happened. Simple as that.

Just then Gandalf dived into the dense fog (which surrounded their camp and that spot alone), and waved his staff above his head, his eyes flashing.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor!" He yelled, a ruby brilliance sprouting from his staff. "Go back to the shadows!" After his shouting and the explosions of fireworks, the tongues of flames and bright sparks it had generated stopped, the members of the Company got up cautiously, eyeing the now quiet staff carefully, ready to flee if even just a red sparkle fizzled upon its head. Oblivious, Gandalf rubbed his beard with self-satisfaction and stared at the fogless clearing, undisturbed by the steaming heaps that once were trees or by the fact that his little show had scared the horses (with all their provisions of food and water) away. He smiled at the Company, and then lit up his pipe for what must have been the fortieth time since morn.

"Did something happen while I was away that I should be aware of?" Aragorn gave a gasp, and so did Éowyn, all but throwing the Elf who was still shielding her with his body onto the surrounding bushes. As he picked himself up, Elladan made a mental note to stop trying to befriend or protect her altogether.

"It's Legolas!" Aragorn bellowed, gesturing in badly concealed panic. "He ran deeper into the woods before the attack!" He rushed into the woods in panic, Éowyn hot on his tracks, both crying Legolas's name at the top of their lungs. Arwen, still squatted against Boromir's back, let her head fall, her forehead bumping against the Man's shoulder.

"We're dead." She muttered, knowing just too well *who* Thranduil and Elrond would deem responsible and *what* exactly would be done to them if so much as a paper cut was to be done to Legolas. Boromir shook his head and handed Arwen a small sack over his shoulder even as they began walking after Estel.

"_Athelas?_" was all he said.

* * * * *

Teary eyed and quivering like a leaf, the little squirrel smashed himself against Legolas's cheek, holding the Elf's face as best as he could with his tiny arms. Legolas started at the sudden contact – that or he had finally noticed the icy smoke lapping at his feet. He sprang on his feet as soon as he felt the dark fume curl around his leg like a squashy tentacle anyway. As if provided with a will of its own, the fog seemed to search for its lost prey and wavered. Something deep inside him made the Elf leap onto the rock he was using as a seat, one hand curled protectively around the almost bawling squirrel. After a moment's hesitation Legolas poked the fog cautiously with one toe, half-expecting to see it coil up around his leg. It didn't, but Legolas decided it was better not to move from his advantage spot, anyway – prudence if the first rule of survival.

As Legolas scanned the darkened greenery the squirrel pressed himself further back into the softness of the Elf's face, gripping onto it now with both pairs of limbs, and quivering as if wind-wracked. Mindful of the little one's justifiable apprehension, Legolas patted him gently and stood upright, sure by now of what was happening.

"Spirit of the Forest!" he cried out. "Show yourself to me, for I wish to gaze upon the face of my attackers when I battle!" The squirrel swooned- had it not be for Legolas's hand he would have been lying on the forest floor by now. The little one made a mental note to add something to list of the Elf's qualities he and his friends had done before: they'd forgotten to put in that he was crazy.

Out of his mind, beyond help kind of crazy.

A moment of silence passed, and then something akin a drum's noise slashed the air.

"Ergh*thump* *thump* *thump* how does this blasted thing…?! *thump* *thump* Uhm… one, two, three… *thump* *thump*" Legolas rose an elegant-shaped eyebrow as a noise like someone blowing deeply came. What_the_hell? A dull thump came then, and after that came a muffled cry of pain, followed by what sounded suspiciously like, "Stop it! They *can* hear you, Pip!"

"Uhm… hello?" Legolas said uncertainly. A deep, ricocheting chuckle answered him, diametrically opposed to the soft, almost child-like whispers from before.

"'Ere you, getcher arse up and leave *my* forest, or I'll kick it 'til yar outta here!" Legolas crossed his arms, looking around and then settling for glaring defiantly up at the sky, where it seemed the voice was coming from.

"My, aren't we *polite*." He snorted, ignoring the squirrel gesticulating and shaking his head madly on his shoulder. Was this Elf ignoring him, stupid or *what*?! "Are you the Spirit of Morfëataur?"

"'fcourse!"

"Good." Legolas replied, hopping back onto the ground. "This is what I call luck. And it was easier to find you that I thought it would." Soft murmuring and muffled whispers followed this statement, and for no small amount of time the Spirit stayed silent.

"Ya mean y'were searchin' fer *me*?"

"Sure enough." Legolas nodded.

"I could kill ya." A nod.

"I know. But a…" Legolas gestured vaguely with one hand, still staring skywards. "…friend of mine believes you're a fairy tale. I'd very much like to show him you're real. Won't you come out and show yourself to him, maybe?"

"Fer cryin' out loud, kid! Ya shouldabe runnin' 'round in panic fer th' damn darkness *an'* my presence!" Legolas couldn't help the shout clawing its way up his throat.

"My name is Legolas, not *kid*! *LEGOLAS*! L_E_G_O_L_A_S! It isn't that difficult, is it? Then why can't anyone seem able to call me by_my_name?!" He slumped back down on the rock, gesturing widly. "Aurêl here, Aurêl there, Morning Star here, Morning Star there… And I'm not a kid, damn it! Why can't you or him get it? Oh, why does he treat me like a child, watching my every move and reprimanding me?" he sighed, head popped on his cupped hands.

"Err… kid?"

"I don't ask for much! Why can't I get him to like me? He never finds me good enough for anything; even scouting is something I can't do without him following me! Does he really think I'm so weak? He must find me useless… and after what I've done to him by the pond, he surely *hates* me now…Oww…" with this brilliant (and inaccurate) conclusion of his little speech the Elf fell back on the boulder, arms spread, and sighed. "Kill me, eat me, kick my arse 'til I'm outta here, I don't care."

"Uh? You jes' gonna surrenda like 'at? Whassup whit'chu?"

"Dunno, er, I don't know. I'm probably dying of grief already." He tried to shrug, but the motion was hard to accomplish, sprawled on the rock as he was.

"Y'know, can'tchu go and die so'where else?" Legolas glared at the sky contemptuously.

"No. I like it here: it's a good place to die."

"Yeah, unfo'tunately. Well, ya still might find a better place an' save me all-a th' trouble."

"No, *thanks*." Legolas hissed back. The Spirit mumbled something in reply and then gave a gasp. Its voice began suddenly muffled and sounded like if addressed to someone else. Answering whispers soon came, and then the Spirit cleared its throat.

"Yo. Die o' *grief* I b'lieve y'said, kid?" Legolas leaped to his feet, the squirrel holding on a strand of the Elf's hair for dear life.

"It's Legolas!"

"Yeah, yeah, Legolas. Ya mean yar n'Elf?" Legolas folded his arms across his chest, gave the sky one of his 'are you stupid or what?' looks and pursed his lips sullenly.

"Of course I am. Can't you see it?"

"Err, no, but a'm workin' on that." Legolas purposely forgot to ask. "Listen, I dun think yar an Elf at all, but I can't take th' risk and let an Elf die o'me." Legolas eyebrow twitched, but the Elf managed to tame it before it could curve upwards, somehow.

"You *kill* and *ate* Elves on a daily routine." He reminded wryly. No small amount of cursing later the Spirit managed to splutter out a resounding "WHAT?!" and Legolas hunched briefly, on impulse.

"…I gather you don't?"

"*NO*!" Unrepeatable curses followed, and shooting whispers rose on the background in a vane attempt to hush them. It was to no avail, and Legolas understood soon he had been all but forgotten. With an annoyed sigh he leaned back against a tree, and found that to be the mistake of the year.

The tree split in two like a malicious maw, and Legolas fell backward into a dark void. The world spun as he felt himself fall down a small, slippery tunnel, ending up in an Elf-heap on what felt like a bed of leaves. Massaging his head he rose to a crouched position, muttering lowly. And when he looked about him, only one eye cracked open, he found unbelievable blue eyes blinking down at him only inches away. He started away, and got a good look of the creature studying him in awe. It looked like a human child, no older than nine Seasons, and he was currently having fun by poking the Elf with a long stick. Looking up as he heard a tiny crackle Legolas saw three other children in the cave (for he just realized he was in a cave) all frozen in front (or inside) some strange looking machineries of wood. They were all looking at him with awe mixed fear, immobile, and the only thing that told them from exceptionally realistic dolls was the quiet movement of their chests, raising and falling with each breath. Behind them, swearing and clutching a funnel-shaped… … …'thing', in a crushing grip was a fifth character, stouter and shorter, and suspiciously similar to a Dwarf. The Elf gaped. The squirrel on his shoulder swooned and fell on the floor, out cold. Had he not lost consciousness then he would have fallen anyway, because Legolas tried shaking his head to banish the strange image in front of his eyes.

When he was done, it was still there.

One of the children-like creatures (who, Legolas noted, was in front a *huge* hearth exhaling black fumes) cleared his throat soundly, making everyone start.

"Err… C'ptain Gimli, sir?" The Dwarf gave another curse. 

"Whaddya want?" 

"There's an *Elf* in here." Another child provided slowly. 

"Pointy ears, blonde hair and everything." Another said, clutching to his chest an over-sized book, eyes and mouth wide. 

"And very cute, too!" Exclaimed the stick-holder child. 

"Stop sayin' nonsense an' keep moving yar feet!" The Dwarf shouted, and the three children who weren't poking Legolas reflexively began pedalling, setting to motion all the strange machineries crowding the cave. The Elf could little else than stare and gasp out. 

"Oh, my…" Mistake two of the day (just *two*?): upon hearing him the Dwarf swivelled on Legolas and gave what could be described only as a battle cry before… 

… 

…fainting?! 

What the *heck*…?! 

**TBC **

**Exceptionally long chapter… ^_^ My personal way to thank you for all the reviews you're sending me! *drops on her knees* More than 100 reviews… this is… a record! A Miracle! A gift from the Valar! *distributes chocolate cookies* I love you all, I truly do… *-***


	10. Chapter 10

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 10 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_*is bouncy* It took me quite some time, but I finally finished chapter 10, and it is quite long, too! ^^V I hope you'll enjoy reading it… I had a blast writing it! XD _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

Legolas woke up to the horrifying shrieks of someone being tortured to death. A low, dreadful, rattling sound of muffled screaming that made every fibre and synapse of the Elf's body tingle with foreboding. Gripping the dark sheet that covered him Legolas dragged it over his head. But the screaming was just too much to bear, its cacophony punctuated now and then by shriller shrieks. The Elf sat up with a start, looking around dazedly. In a nestle beside him the squirrel did exactly what the Elf did, (from dragging the cover over his head, to starting up to a sitting position, to look around) and we must add, in perfect unison. Their eyes met, the Elf's and the squirrel's, and then, without as much as a word they fell back down, curled in a foetal position and snuggled under the covers, hands clamped against their ears.

The hideous sound continued.

A good deal of shrieking, screaming, clamping his ears against his ears, muttering curses and pain later, Legolas leaped to his feet, throwing the dark covers to an identified corner of the room, uninterested to their fate. He proceeded to uncover the Squirrel's nest, watching as the little thing wriggled and writhed theatrically under the sudden light. It flailed its tiny hands, then thrashed its head from side to side while gripping its throat, looking as if asphyxiating. Its tiny body jolted and then, after a last, vane attempt to reach up to the sky with a tremulous hand, the squirrel slumped back down on its makeshift bed. Its head lolled to a side and then, as if on a second thought, its pink tongue hung out from its slightly parted lips.

"Very funny." Legolas half-glared, before clasping one of the Squirrel's tiny arms and all but throw it to it favourite spot on the Elf's shoulder. He pointed a finger to the Squirrel's nose, who batted its eyelashes up at him apologetically, its hands clasped behind its back. "I'm not letting you sleep while *I* can't." Legolas looked around, flinching at the shrieks offending his over-sensitive ears, and all but jumped when the heap of his previously discarded covers began shifting and moaning. The Elf and the Squirrel folded their arms across their chest, watching in mild fascination as a dark head emerged from under the heap.

"Hullllllllllo! I came to wake you Legolas, but I find you up already! How was your sleep?" The newcomer cried out, nursing the bruise he'd got when the tidal wave of Legolas's covers had sent him rolling across the floor and against the wall. The shrieking reverberated through the air. The Elf groaned.

"For the Valar's sake Pip, what time *is* it?" Upon hearing his name Pip looked up at the Elf with gleaming eyes, jumping free of the heap in one single, fluid motion.

"It's time to wake up!" He replied with growing excitation, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Can't you smell breakfast? Good-cooked bacon, eggs and warmed honey and bread, Sam's specialities? Can't you hear the C'ptain singing under the shower?"

"Unfortunately, I can…" He whimpered painfully as Gimli's 'singing' escalated of another pair of octaves into something that resembled Nazgûl's wails. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Around three hours, I guess." Pip replied with a broadening grin. Legolas looked at him, purposely forgetting to hide his disconcert.

"And you woke me up because…?" The Spirit grinned, biting his bottom lip to stop his smile from going out of hand, and traced circles on the ground with his toe.

"When I let you go to sleep last night you promised you'd continue telling me about the surface once you woke up. I figured you'd like to be woken up as soon as it was time to wake up, so I waited for dawn to come and then hurried to wake you up." Legolas gave a delighted laugh.

"Eager to listen to my stories, aren't you?" Pip nodded fervently and seemed ready to reply, but a book dropped onto his head silenced him, sending him back into the heap of covers. Behind him a blonde Spirit stood, hands still posed from dropping the book.

"Peregrin Took!" he scolded, hands fisting against his hips as he leaned down to be nose-to-nose with his cousin. "You can't disturb our guest like this! My apologies, Master Legolas." He added, glancing up at the Elf (who could barely keep his laughter for himself) and bowed his head a little. Pip looked up, bitterly nursing the new bruise crowning his head.

"But Merry…" His cousin glared back down at him, retrieving his book but not moving a finger to help his cousin, even though he looked like he wouldn't move until he'd been cuddled and pampered a little. Merry frowned, and Pip gave him his best "I'm cute, you know that you want to hug me" pout: his bottom lip quivered, his eyes growing huger and watery. Merry's frown doubled. Pip's pout became ten times cuter – Merry's anger was summarily dealt a quick and painless death with an unidentified sharp object. He hurried to help his little cousin up, gave him a friendly squeeze and then stepped back, smiling.

"From now on Pip, please promise that you'll give Master Legolas some space to breath! I don't know what you think, but Elves need sleep and breathing just like any other creature, I assure you." Pip opened his mouth, then his mind registered fully what had been told him, and he whirled on Legolas white HUGE eyes.

"You *DO*?!" That was the last strand – Legolas broke out in a soundly laugh, and music filled the air. Of course, the fact that Gimli's shower (and singing) was done with helped a great deal.

"Indeed, my good Pippin. Indeed."

"Master Legolas! You're awake, I see." Another voice came, and at the door appeared the other two Spirits of the night before. One, slender and with unbelievable blue eyes, smiled at Legolas, head titled in greetings. The other spirit settled from just blushing, his chubby cheeks tinged with pretty red. Legolas beamed at them.

"Mr. Baggins! Mr. Gamgee!" the blue-eyed Spirit grinned back, while the other blushed some more, muttering something about being honoured that an Elf (an *elf*! A real one! Sweet Elbereth…) remembered his humble name.

"Frodo and Sam will do." The blue-eyed Spirit assured, making his way to the Elf and sitting at the table just behind him. The other Spirit –Sam- came forward, holding a tray and still blushing profusely.

"Then, I must ask you to call me Legolas." His answer was a grin, Frodo's blue eyes glinting like precious stones.

"_Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, Legolas._ A star shines on the hour of our meeting." Legolas dropped gracefully in a seat next to Frodo's, catching a red apple from the tray as Sam passed by. With choreographed speed the Spirits seated themselves at the high table, diving to the delicacies Sam had cooked.

"I'm afraid I forgot how do you--" He masked his lack with a pause, neatly slashing a piece of apple and handing it to the Squirrel on his shoulder.

"Hobbits," Sam provided helpfully, whacking the back of Pippin's hand with his wooden fork when the lad tried to steal from Legolas's plate, which Sam had just finished filling.

"—Hobbits, came to know the Elven tongue." Frodo's eyes glinted, very much like starry skies, but not half as dark.

"Possibly because I never told you, Legolas. Maybe I could let you in this little secret while exploring our little city together?" Legolas chuckled.

"Little? Morfëataur is enormous. If your underground city is even just half the forest's size, it would still be almost as big as the Shire." Legolas leaned forward, pausing to take a bite out of his apple and chew it. After swallowing, he continued. "Is it?" Frodo's answer was mysterious and vague and just what Legolas wanted to ear.

"Maybe. What do you say to spending the evening walking down the town? You may learn what you wish to know about Hobbits and Morfëataur and the Shire."

They ate a quick and frugal breakfast. Well, quick it was for sure, but it was frugal just by Hobbits standards: each one of those little creatures held a stomach trice his size. There had been sweet fruit and juices on the table; milk, biscuits and warmed bread and honey; bacon and even some enormous cakes whose secret ingredient was something Sam himself had discovered and named "chocolate". Enough food to satisfy an Orcs army – and it had disappeared in just ten minutes. To say that Legolas had been surprised at their appetite, it means putting it lightly. They were careful to leave Gimli a ration just as big as theirs though, and to keep his juice cool and his cake steamy with the help of those strange machineries that swarmed their Headquarter.

Then they led the Elf toward the citadel.

Legolas walked through the citadel with his nose in the air, like a child in a sweets store. Hobbits scurried busily through sparse fog down cobblestone streets, and Legolas could faintly heard the joyous voices coming from the nearby market. Light spilled down on the city from slits in the cave-ceiling and the streets were flooded with white radiance. A stream gurgled through the town encased in a bed of marble. The Elf came into a Hobbits-packed plaza, clicking his heels to a melody just heard. Fountains of marble sprouted among lush plants, monuments and palaces alike encaged in ties of green. Legolas advanced slowly, awed by the gleaming white stone, the craggy structures and the bizarre vegetation surrounding him. Morfëataur, the one land feared more than Mordor was wonderful… beautiful, even. Not even Lothlòrien, the fairest of all realm on Middle Earth could compare.

He watched around in fascination as Frodo lead him deeper into the city, stopping every now and then to gaze closely at the snowy steam rising from those same machinery that filled the Headquarter.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Frodo commented casually even as his eyes glinted. "The Dwarves made this all." Legolas nodded, and patting the squirrel on his shoulder thoughtlessly he saved it from choking on its chocolate cake - and without even noticing.

"So, what do you wish to ask first, Legolas?" Frodo queried, dragging the Elf out of his reverie. The blonde seemed to consider the question for a moment and then blurted out very quickly:

"Why did the Dwarf faint when he first saw me?" The Hobbit grinned. Then chuckled softly. It soon developed in a full, glorious laugh; and Frodo just laughed, throwing his head back.

"That, my friend, is easy to explain…"

* * * * *

Éowyn rummaged blindly through what had remained of her baggage (she'd finally come to terms with the shock of losing most of Thranduil's gifts and of the Queen's wardrobe along with their stallions) and emerged with a set of HUGE forks and kitchen knifes of _mithril_ that were immediately dropped into Elrohir's arms. The Elf immediately clutched one cutlery in each hand, handed a pair to the Lady and threw another to his twin. Elladan stood, brow furrowed in apprehension and glistening with a thin layer of sweat, in front of the bubbling dark water. He caught the knife and fork without much effort, eyes never moving from the black depths.

Elrohir and Éowyn crept along the ground to his side, careful not to make any noise and then crouched next to him. When a leaf creaked under their weight, the tree exchanged glares. They pressed a finger to their lips and hissed at the other two to make silence, but it was kinda funny because they were doing more commotion trying to be silent than they could by shouting at the top of their lungs. The clamour didn't go unnoticed by their foe, and a long, squishy tentacle emerged from the water, swaying menacingly thought the air. Drops of steamy water rained down on the three and THAT got their attention. Not that they'd ever admit it, but they'd been so busy hushing one another to forgot the task at hand.

Elladan, the more controlled of the three, immediately took control of the situation.

"Now! All of us together!" he yelled, dodging the tentacle as it speeded toward him. With a nod Éowyn speeded forward, and run it through with her knife, unluckily loosing her weapon as she did. Elrohir settled for poking the monstrosity to blood with some forks. Elladan delivered it the final blow, cutting it in two with his own kitchen knife. The tentacle swayed some more in the air, and then drew back in the depths of the cauldron (courtesy of Thranduil of course, even thought none was sure how had the Elven King managed to put such a huge thing in one of the bags he'd given Éowyn).

Elrohir slumped to the forest floor, drying his face from the soup-drops.

"Is it over?" Elladan nodded cautiously, poking their now quiet dinner with a fork. Mistake. The chopped tentacle rose from its steamy haven and curled around the Elf's wrist, tugging defiantly at it. It wouldn't surrender to death without at least a victim, it seemed. Elladan closed his eyes shut, expecting his life to end in a bowl of soup, but luckily Éowyn was just behind the cauldron, and knocked the tentacle unconscious with her frying pan. (© King Thranduil s.p.a.). The squashy limb swayed a little, reaching up toward the sun-less sky and then flopped down into the soup to never raise again. Elladan collapsed in a twitching pile right into his twin's arms, while Éowyn let herself go to a little victory dance.

Elroirh picked up a stick, just in case, and pointed it to the cauldron and its contents as thought it was a wizard-staff. Useless, but pretty dramatic.

"Milady?" He said slowly, eyeing the cauldron warily. Éowyn hummed something in reply, still lost in her dance. "Are you sure it's wise to eat that thing?" Elladan nodded.

"Food is to be eaten, not to be eaten *by*." Éowyn glared at them both defiantly, arms crossed across her chest.

"Well, the owner of that tentacle-thing *did* try to eat us when we passed by its lake. Now we eat the souvenir we claimed when he attacked us."

"Logical." Elladan said blandly. His twin made a little noise borne of shock.

"You mean it is normal when food mutinies on you like *that*?"

"Obviously it is in Mirkwood, since its *Princess*-" Elladan replied, putting just the slightest emphasis on the words as he glared up at Éowyn through his lashes"-does not mind it when her cooking tries to go on a walk on its own." The Princess in question stomped her foot.

"Oh, you two! Shut your traps and cooperate!" She said, picking a spoonful up out of the cauldron and letting the sticky mixture clinging to the cutlery drizzle slowly down.

"Cooperate?!" Elrohir couldn't control himself anymore. "We've battled that monster almost to death, we let you talk us into lighting up a fire and find the herbs for you, we defended you against your own *cooking* and you ask us to *cooperate*?" Elladan, much more controlled than his twin, gave a sigh, massaging his temples.

"What do you want us to do exactly?" Éowyn grinned, and held the spoonful of soup out to them.

"Try it." She said, trying to sound tempting. Elrohir, who had just picked himself up, collapsed back down on the dewy grass.

"Try it? This is *insane*! What do you take us for, suicidal freaks?!"

"How… how dare you! Everything Arwen can do, I do it ten times better!" she said, looking at the Elf the exact same way he was looking at her – like he had suddenly morphed into an Orc. Elladan gave her a suspicious look.

"I still don't get *why* you insisted to make dinner instead of Arwen."

"Because she's getting better at it!" She yelled, her arms shaking slightly as she gestured for added emphasis. Elladan blinked.

"So?"

"So?! So?! *SO*?!" Éowyn advanced on him, the poor Elf backing away as best as he could, still sprawled on the ground. "If she gets any better, she'll become the perfect spouse! Fair, kind and a good cook, *too*!"

"Perfect spouse?"

"For BOROMIR!"

"Boromir?" the twins exchanged glances.

"Boromir!" She assured, falling on her knees between Elladan's upraised legs and leaning forward until she was nose to nose with him. "You know, the handsome Knight that travels with us?"

"*Handsome* Knight?" She clasped both Elladan's hands in hers and nodded.

"How could you take no notice of such a beauty? My eyes have known only bitter darkness before I first laid them upon the beacon he is. His soft hair, his sparkling blue eyes… his supple muscles, his courage…"

"…his headache…" Elrohir provided from the corner he'd retreated into, watching in fascination as Éowyn's eyes grew huge and shinier with each word she uttered about Boromir, while Elladan tried to become one with the tree he was now pinned against.

"Can you honestly look at him and tell me your heart doesn't fill with love and respect? Uh? Uh? Uh?" Elrohir reclined back on its improvised seat, snacking on some wild blueberries. Elladan smiled nervously.

"Err… he's never been my type. You know too… err… 'male' for my tastes." Éowyn dropped the Elf's hands, her expression distraught.

"Oh, how can you say that? Boromir's the epitome of all that could be wanted in a mate!"

"Except that he's a male?" Éowyn frowned.

"Oh, I can't believe an Elf could have such prejudices!"

"It's not a prejudice! I just don't_want_him." In the midst of the fight the tentacle peered cautiously from the bubbling broth, turning right and left slowly. Thoughtlessly Elrohir offered some blueberries to it, and when the tentacle dragged into the soup the whole handful, the Elf –still thoughtlessly- whacked it with the spoon, making it flop back into the boiling mixture.

"Because he's a male?"

"Because it's *him*!"

"Oi! What's wrong with Boromir?!"

"Well, not to sound old, but he's a male to start with!"

"So? Even Legolas is marrying…" there she stopped, her eyes watered, and she slumped against Elladan's chest, making it purple with her hysteric punches. "My poor Legsy! Where may he be now?!"

"Ugh… we'll find him… ugh…" Elladan managed as he fought for needed air (you know, it wasn't quite easy to catch his breath with Éowyn pummelling his chest like *that*.)

At the ridge of the camp, Boromir and Arwen stood squatted behind the lee side of an ancient tree, the extra firewood and flasks of water they carried forgotten on the ground.

"Can we show ourselves now?" Arwen blinked at the Man. Boromir shrugged.

"To be honest, I'm scared to get near them at the moment."

"Shouldn't we aid my poor brother before anything irrevocable happens, like his death or something?"

"Arwen, honestly, I sympathize with Elladan. I really do. But I rather Éowyn didn't do that to *me*." Funny how, after that first time after Legolas's disappearance, he'd continued to call her by her given name. "And she wouldn't be the only one to get all over me if I step into the camp now. It may not look like it, but I *do* treasure my live." The elven lady giggled softly, and rose weightlessly to her feet.

"She may never admit it, but I doubt we'll dine at all if I don't do something, and quickly." Boromir snatched her wrist as she made as if to enter the camp. He tried to scamper to his feet, but in his hurry he could do nothing more that prop himself up to one knee.

"Please no?" he pleaded, grabbing her hand with both of his own. "Can't we wait until she falls asleep or something? Or until Gandalf and Estel returns, so that they can console her and protect the twins in my stead?"

"No. We have to go. And now. But worry not: if by my life or death I can protect you from Éowyn and my brothers' over-exaggerated affections, I will." She joked. That did not ease his dread in the slightest, and the worried expression he wore made her smile.

"Arwen I… I… wanted to ask you… we…" he began, and then left his words hanging. He wasn't sure himself of what he wanted to say, and yet desperate to say it.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the Man looking flustered at himself and the Elf waiting calmly for words that maybe would never come. Soon enough her smile twitched, though. A giggle escaped her, and if he didn't know better, Boromir would have sworn her cheeks looked slightly flushed. He stared at her, looking mildly baffled by her sudden mirth. She countered by glancing around briefly with a smile, and then caught his eyes, cocking her head slightly to one side. The grin that she modelled made her look both malicious and expectant, but what worried the Man was the twinkle in her half-lidded eyes. Boromir frowned, an expression she blithely ignored as her smile developed again in soft giggling.

She seemed to be standing in wait, and watched the Man expectantly until he hesitantly looked about them, searching for the source of her amusement. He took in the trees; the swaying grass; the soundless wind; the gurgling stream rushing nearby; he kneeling before her with her hand clasped in his, wanting to ask her something… his face remained confused for another long moment, then it went amusingly shocked, his eyes wide and round and one eyebrow twitching. He looked up at her, and would have dropped her hand, hadn't she squeezed his own gently.

"Of course the answer is 'yes', Boromir." She poked him in the nose, giggled heartedly at his gasp, and skidded weightlessly into the camp, humming and laughing softly. Boromir gaped after her, torn between laughing at her joke or fainting at the mere notion of marrying the most beautiful Elven Maiden to walk Middle Earth since Thinùvel departed. He settled for a quiet headache, his brain skipping as quick as lightning through the plethora of names he was calling himself. He'd dug his tomb with his own hands after all, some bewilderment from his part was only to be expected.

_No, of course she was joking. But, let's pretend, just for a moment, that she wasn't. Does this mean we're getting married? But won't Lord Elrond take our marriage as an offence? I'm a mere Knight after all, and mortal. On the other hand, is she was serious and I refused, she'd grieve, and nowhere in Eä I could be safe from Lord Elrond's wrath. _

_Or the twin's. _

_Or Estel's… _

When a worried Elrohir came to fetch him, hours afterwards, to inform him that dinner was ready, the Man was still kneeling in the same spot, eyes huge and unseeing, wondering…

_…or King Thranduil's. _

_Or the Lady Galadriel's _

_Or Lord Celeborn's. _

_Or the whole Elven kin's in general. _

_Or— _

**TBC **

**What can I say… I like the "Watcher in the Water" the Fellowship meets outside Moria's gates… I just *had* to put it in, somewhere… though, putting it into the Company's dinner soup was a sort of surprise even to me…=) **

**I hate spoiling the surprise, but I think I need to warn you that some important stuff will take place in the next chapter, and that it may drown the funniness of the fic. Namely, Orcs will make their first appearance and a mushy scene(s) will happen concerning Legolas and Aragorn (whom I purposely didn't put in this one chapter) and their growing feelings.**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 11 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_A more serious chapter! Angsty and mushy! AGH! *thuds* _

_ Legolas = *pokes the unconscious Necchan with a stick* _

_ Aragorn = Is she dead? _

_ Legolas = *shakes head* _

_ Aragorn = *snaps fingers* Damn. _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

Taking care of the provisions, noting down the profit and losses of the month, had always been the very one deed Merry *abhorred* above any other but, alas! was also the very one he couldn't avoid for the world. So, his beloved and GARGANTUAN book open on his knees, some parchment on the desk and one long swan-quill in hand, he sat in the Common Room, trying to work on several things at once: check exactly *why* they'd consumed twice the chocolate and sugar and flour and cake-ingredients of the previous month; why they'd been using trice the smelling salts (wait, he knew that: it was due to Legolas's presence and Gimli's 'small problem', as he called it,) and write to their Lady to convince her that locusts had attacked Morfëataur (unbelievable), occupied their food-magazines (even more unbelievable) and devoured all their sweets (downright impossible) and thus she should send some cakes and sweets and such their way (that was actually possible, she'd always had a soft spot for him after all, but Merry was trying not to keep his hopes too high).

So taken in his work he was, that the Hobbit didn't notice someone trying to get his attention until something curled around his leg and tugged defiantly, actually making him slid off his chair some. With a squeal and a quickened heartbeat Merry looked down, his quill at the ready (you don't know how deadly quills become when stuck into an aggressor's eye) and blinked as Gimli gestured at him to be quiet from under the desk.

"C'ptain?"

"Shhhhh!!!" The Dwarf replied hastily, looking about him with wild apprehension. "Y'never know wher th' blasted Elf may be." He looked up at Merry then, and his eyes were huge and pleading. "Yo. Y'know where th' Elf-kid's gone floatin' 'round? I bloody Hell hope he's annoin' so'one very far from 'ere." Blink. "Is he? I tellja: I ain't gonna come outta 'ere 'til I know the Elf is no'here near."

"Uhm… he's with Pippin, C'ptain." Merry answered, after taking a moment to consider.

"Y'sure?" Nodding in confidence, Merry placed his quill and book on the table, and reclined back on his seat.

"As sure as I'm of the sky being blue, C'ptain." Giving a relieved sigh Gimli stumbled out from the desk and rose to his feet, patting his long _mithril_ coat off of inexistent dust. Then he froze, his heart stopping and dying and withering and jumping and doing a lot of painful things in his chest as the delighted cry came from close ( and I mean *inches* close) behind him.

"GIMLI!!!" the Dwarf spun around, his hands held out in front of him defensively, and indeed Legolas was behind him. Like Merry had said the Elf was with Pippin (who stood next to Legolas, waving at his boss with a toothy grin), but unlike what Gimli had hoped, the Elf wasn't miles away.

The Dwarf gave a disarticulated cry, turned to glare briefly at an angelic-looking Merry (Ehy, he'd never said Legolas was not there, had he?) and then whipped back on the approaching Elf, taking as much steps backwards as Legolas did forwards.

"Yo! Fun meetin' ya here." He looked about wildly, searching for an escape route even as he retreated. "Ergh. I… really gotta go, though. All-a me lil' fella've'd somethin' ta eat 'lready, but I haven't had lunch yet... or breakfast. Now tha' I think 'bout it, I still gotta eat yesta'day dinna. Haven't had time, y'know, what with my job an' eveythin'." Legolas batted his eyelashes cutely, and Gimli pressed himself flush against the wall as the Elf opened his arms at him. 

"Oh come on, Gimli…" The Elf urged. "At least be a polite guest and give me a proper good morning before you go!" he leaped at the terrified-looking Gimli, and the Dwarf's reaction proved all the rumours about Dwarves being slow and graceless just *wrong*. He leaped onto one of the column-like roots standing all along the walls and crawled along it to its summit in the blink of an eye. Legolas, who'd fallen on the floor when his target had leaped away, rolled onto his back and gave a fierce laugh. 

"Why, I had never seen such an agile Dwarf before! And I thought your kin was clumsy and heavy and didn't like highs!" Gimli shook a pointed finger at Legolas, thought better about it when he slid down the root some, and clutched to the plant with both pair of limbs, glaring down at Legolas. 

"It *AIN'T* fun, Elf-kid!" 

"No?" Legolas cooed, eyes sparkling. 

"NO!" Gimli hollered, shaking his arms fiercely – and thus falling head first off of the root, not unlike a ripe fruit falling from its branch. He picked himself up in no time though, and hid behind the table, eyes never leaving Legolas. "Y'know pretty *WELL* th' effect ya have on me!" he said, and began scratching his arms and neck with sudden fervour. Red spots appeared on his tanned skin at light-speed, and Legolas's grin broadened. 

"I've much and many effects on many people, but you…" he sauntered toward the Dwarf causally, and Gimli reflexively hunched behind the table. "…you're the first one I see that is--" he put a pause here, and when Gimli peeked from his hiding place the Elf all but leaped at him, laughing even as his prey leaped away yet again. "--allergic to me!" 

"This ain't bloody funny!" Gimli roared as he ran and hopped and skidded across the room, Legolas hot on his tracks. He scratched the exposed skin of his face and arms as he dashed around, unable to stop the itchy red spots an Elf's closeness triggered across his skin, or the prickle in his quickly watering eyes, or his nose from getting clogged, or his throat from constricting slightly. "Get'way from me, y'heard me? Get'way!!" he hollered, still running. For a Dwarf he was pretty quick, Legolas mused as he ran after him, Pippin cheering and hopping at his side, and Lascaran (the squirrel) poised in battle-stance onto the Hobbit's shoulder (and not onto Legolas's, for a change). 

Amusing as the whole scene was, two pairs of eyes looked at it with detachment, brimming with sadness. Frodo and Sam stood at the entrance of the room, perched atop the stairway and looking down with quiet melancholy. Such mayhem may have been fun the first times, when Legolas was… well, Legolas, and was there in mind and heart, and not only in body. But that was not the case anymore. Legolas was changing, and losing some parts of him with each passing day. Worry registered all over Frodo's face, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and low.

"We've to do something Sam, and soon. Legolas is…" he broke off, his mind racing for the appropriate word. "_Diminishing_. Look at him-" he gestured to where Legolas skipped, dodging easily whatever Gimli launched at the Elf to prevent him from moving closer. Sam looked there as well, and despite himself chuckled when Legolas hopped on the table, dodged a complete set of goblets thrown at him, and finally glomped Gimli, squealing delightedly. The Elf moved from a comatose and twitching Gimli only when Merry dashed to his Captain's aid, his book in one hand and a fuming goblet of potion in the other (they'd long ran out of smelling salts).

Through it all, Legolas never stopped laughing; but it was distant, and cold, so different from the musical laughter that had lifted the Hobbits' heart when Legolas first came to Morfëataur.

"It's been days since he last mentioned the love he said he was suffering from and was so worried about. Or since he mentioned his family; or his companions in his quest. He seems to have forgotten each and every thing that isn't Morfëataur. He's changing, and losing himself along with his memories. I wonder why, though?"

"Morfëataur is holy ground for Elves, no?" Frodo turned to Sam, and the Hobbit blushed under the curious gaze of the other. "The Lady said so once. I reckon we can say Morfëataur is enchanting Legolas and be pretty sure we'd put it right. Morfëataur…_ wants_ to keep Legolas here, if you see what I mean, Mr. Frodo. It *is* eating him, though not the way Legolas feared. It is making him enamoured with its depths and secrets. And it's… _eating_ from the Elf's head everything that could lure him away." The other nodded, glancing quickly at the Elf around which their conversation revolted.

"I fear you're right." Frodo said softly. Then he shook himself. "Have you done what I asked you to?" Sam nodded eagerly.

"Corridor 24 of the East Wing. Chamber 15-a. I saw him there. And if we hurry, we'll find him there still."

Legolas felt the eyes on him, and turned from where Merry was kneeling in front of a twitching Gimli; the potion had long been forced down Gimli's throat and sticks of sweet wood and candles had been lit around him in a circle. Merry murmured an Elven incantation under his breath, stopping now and again to flip the page of his book, face scrunched with worry. Pippin just pocked the unconscious Dwarf with one of the sweet-smelling sticks. Luckily for Gimli, it wasn't lit.

His previous game (aka, torturing Gimli) already forgotten, Legolas waved at Frodo and Sam, and ran up to them with a broad smile. Upon reaching them he clasped Frodo's hands in his and spun around, head thrown back as he laughed.

"Frodo my friend! Is it time already for our stroll? What wonders will you let me in today?"

"Well…" the Hobbit replied, trying hard not to stumble on his own feet as he spun. "You know Morfëataur and all his secrets by heart already, Legolas!" The Elf let go of the Hobbit's hands, and as the poor thing stumbled backwards and into Sam's ready arms, Legolas performed a weightless twirl and then stood facing the two, arms spread out at his sides.

"Tell me and show me everything once again, then!" He laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, deprived by any flame he may have possessed once. "Tell me of the cascades you keep in your houses and can command!"

"Showers, Legolas."

"And of the hot mouths of stone, and the goblets than send your voices to the surface and the boats you keep than can sail earth and sky!"

"Ovens, Legolas." Frodo smirked. "And microphones, the terraships and our one airship." The Elf waved his hands dismissively.

"Those, those. And tell me again of Glòin Gimli's Father, and Tùrin; of The Hobbits and the Shire, and Galadriel your Lady." Frodo laughed, but shook his head nevertheless.

"You know all of that already. Today I wish to show you something new." Legolas's eyes widened, and he leaned forward with an eager smile. "Today you shall meet the Fellowship of the Star." Legolas regarded the Hobbit with curious eyes, tipping his head to one side, then the other, as Frodo grabbed a torch and led the way into a dark tunnel, Sam following faithfully behind. The two were already nothing but a small light in the depths of the gloom corridor when Legolas moved, hurrying behind them with light feet and a troubled mind.

_…Fellowship… of the Star? I wonder… _

The trio walked into the gloom, moving through a long series of twisting, never-ending hallways leisurely. The low ceiling and the cold walls fused together in the gloominess, so that Legolas felt like moving through layers of darkness, much to his own grief. Frodo and Sam though, moved through the shadows as part of them, knowing those tunnels and shadows too well to really need to watch their steps. Legolas was too nervous though, to pay them or the amused glances they sent behind now and again more than little attention. His heart had been settled on fire by some unknown feeling that he couldn't understand, and he wondered at it, his mind hurting as he tried remembering.

_Star? Someone… someone called me Star. Not Star… … …*Morning* Star. Aurêl. That's how they call me, still. But someone… someone didn't call me either that or Legolas… he dared call me… call me… boy… elf-boy… and treated me like a child… and I…resented him for that. I hated him. _

_… _

_I… _

_…no… _

_… it wasn't… it wasn't like that… _

_… it wasn't like that at all! Whoever it was, I… I… I lo- _

So wrapped up in his own thought he was that he almost ran into Sam when he stopped under a low arch leading into a glittering grotto. The floor there was black as night, while the ceiling and walls seemed to sparkle as if scattered with stars. Frodo tugged on an hanging cord, and a panel moved, revealing two huge slits like scars in the eastern wall. Legolas drew in a shaky breath, awed, as light spilled in from the slits, and billionths particles of dust glittered in the golden radiance as though dancing stars. Since he would not move Sam hurriedly tugged the Elf by his sleeve up to the ray of light. Peering from the slits (which were invisible from the outside we may add), the two (and Frodo) found themselves few feet from where the Company had camped. And, to Legolas's surprise and the Hobbits infinite satisfaction, Aragorn was there as well. Upon seeing him, it was as if the floodgates opened inside Legolas's mind and heart. He sagged to the floor in what seemed relief, smiling even as his eyes glistened.

_I love him. Strider… Strider… Strider… my… _

"…my Aragorn…" Legolas whispered softly, and Frodo and Sam celebrated their success with a manly shake of hands – then thought better about it and hugged.

Currently the Man stood in a threatening battle stance in front of an ancient tree, his legs bent at the knees and Andùril in his hands. His forehead was bathed in perspiration, and stray curls of his dark hair were plastered against his clammy face and neck. He eyed the huge plant for one long moment, mutely, and then dashed forward, slashing it repeatedly;

"Where is him?!" he yelled to no one in particular, then focused on some innocent low branches and wild bushes that had the only fault to be near him. "Where?!" He slashed blindly, twirling around often and quickly, as if surrounded by many foes - and judging from the trail of fallen branches and cut leafs behind him, Aragorn must have done that for a while. "Where?!" Sam and Frodo blinked. Make it a *long* time: the clearing he was standing in had been crowded with bushes and plants last time the Hobbits had checked.

Gandalf was watching the whole show from atop a flat boulder, sitting with his legs hanging from the edge. His pipe was in his mouth, and considering the ashes-heaps at his feet, it'd been there for as much as Aragorn had been slaying innocent plants. It went on like that for longer that the Hobbits had the patience to wait, Aragorn fighting invisible demons and Gandalf watching. Then Aragorn delivered one last strike to the huge tree, before staggering backwards and flop bonelessly on the same boulder the Wizard was on, exhausted. Andùril slipped from his grasp and Aragorn let it go, merely running a hand through his hair. The Wizard sitting at his side moved the pipe from his lips and blew out a thin steam of smoke. It was shapeless, and not unlike any you may see rising from a quiet campfire or an upstart's pipe –i.e.- watch your back 'cuz the end of days must be near.

"Have you got your wits back, young Man?" The Wizard queried slowly, he too eyeing the trail of smoke oddly. "Famishing yourself and raze Morfëataur to the ground won't help you find the Elf." Gandalf brought the pipe back to his mouth and then blew another shapeless trail of smoke – on the count of three, reach the nearest anti-atomic bunker. He turned to where Legolas and the Hobbits were, and his eyes twinkled strangely. He faced forward before Aragorn could notice his attention was diverged somewhere else and "Legolas has been missing for twelve days, already.", he added casually. At those words the Elf whipped to the Hobbits, expecting -aching almost- to see them deny it, but they just nodded awkwardly, their cheeks flushing guiltily.

The Elf's head spun.

Twelve days.

He'd been missing for twelve days.

And Strider still… still…

He turned hopeful wide eyes to the Man, watching him shake his head mutely.

_He's still searching for me… _

"I heard each star is, was, or will be the reflected light of an Elf on Eä. Legolas's star is up there-" the Wizard said carefully, gesturing vaguely at the sky. "I know you won't talk to me, you haven't for days, but try addressing to it: it may make the pain bearable, at least some." Legolas blinked, not daring to hope. Pain? Strider was pained by his absence? He hadn't spoken, or eaten for the worry? The worry caused by *him* missing?

"I… can't stand this, Gandalf!" The Ranger cried out suddenly, hiding his face in his hands. Gandalf glanced briefly to where the spies were taking cover, the twinkle still in his eyes, and then turned back to the Man. "What if I'll never see him again? What will be of… of me, then?" Legolas's heart skipped a beat. "What if he's dead already? Tortured to death, or cooked slowly to the Spirit's liking? He may have left this world cursing my name, not knowing that I… I… I…"

"That you love him?" Aragorn's head jerked sharply up, but he didn't dare move his face more than few inches from his palms. Legolas and the Hobbits froze, breath held, Frodo looking up at the Elf with wide eyes. Legolas looked on the verge of a heart-attack. He was pale, trembling, and his eyes glittered suspiciously. Aragorn struggled for words, gazing at his palms unseeingly.

"I… I…" Gandalf looked at the Man expectantly. Legolas licked his lips. Frodo clasped his hands together and held his breath, while Sam shut his eyes, crossed his fingers, murmured some prayers to various and casual Valar and tried to watch and stay silent all at the same time.

At long last Aragorn parted his lips.

"Actually, I don't…" but just then Elrohir skidded into the clearing, announcing less-than-cheerfully that Éowyn'd had the courtesy to make them a cake (out of what, he was not sure) and that their presence was requited back at the camp.

He returned alone, if not for the flaming, flying wizard-staff chasing him and for the curse-shouting wizard-staff's owner bestriding it. He would have had Sam hot on his tracks as well, hadn't Frodo jumped on the other Hobbit before he could leap at the dark-haired Elf and squeeze the life out of him. Legolas, tense as the too-drawn string of a bow, had fallen down at the intrusion, and didn't seem about to recover anytime soon. If anything his eyes had brightened even more, and that had become impossible to deny or hide, even from himself. Frodo looked at the Elf, and something incredibly sad flashed by his gaze.

"Sam?" He muttered softly, and the dark-haired-elves-cursing heap of limbs and cloak under him mumbled something in reply. "I think Legolas may need some time to himself." Sam stopped squirming, and raised his eyes enough to peer from a gap in the clock he'd ended up entangled in. One pale green eyes gazed at the Elf from said gap and then blinked, it too filling with sadness.

"Aye. I reckon we'd better leave." Frodo moved enough to let Sam pick himself up, and then cleared his throat. Legolas didn't acknowledge him in the slightest. Frodo glanced at Sam in hope of some help, but the best the other Hobbit could came out with was to scratch the back of his head, his cheeks flushing slightly as he said,

"I… uhm… think I left my cake in the oven. I can smell it burning from here." And then dashed off into the wrong direction (well, wrong if he wanted to save this rumoured cake). Frodo nodded hurriedly.

"I think I left his cake in the oven, too." A moment later, he was halfway down the (wrong) tunnel Sam had dashed in before, dragging the rather confused Hobbit back toward Legolas. (_weren't we supposed to leave Legolas alone, Mr. Frodo?_) They hurried back to their starting point, slipping silently behind some huge boulders, (well, Frodo slipped, Sam was not-so-gently threw behind it, his eyes round as he still tried to realize what they were doing back *there*) as to keep an eye on the Elf without being seen.

Legolas, though, wouldn't have noticed them even if they started dancing in front of him in twin Hippo outfits. He slumped down and turned to lay against the cave-wall, unaware that he stood now like Aragorn's perfect mirror image, their backs facing.

_//Actually, I don't…//_ Strider had said. And Legolas had been foolish enough to hope, even if just for the smallest moment, that the Man may… may… Legolas slipped his eyes shut, and sniffled, drawing his legs to his torso. Gods, he hated feeling this way, worn out and weak. If what he was feeling was Grief, he'd to remember asking the Valar to banish such hideous feeling from middle Earth once he was done dying out of it and had reached Valinor.

"I may love you, Strider." The Elf admitted softly. "But I sure as hell hate you like nothing else, as well." The voice answering his was just as soft.

"Legolas?" Aragorn inquired softly from outside the cave, and Legolas's chest contracted almost painfully. Had he been heard? Had he been found? He pressed himself flatter against the wall, head tilted, unaware that Aragorn had done exactly the same on the boulder.

"Legolas, can you hear me?" The Man's voice was still soft, still barely above a whisper. A star above him seemed to tinkle intermittently, and he smiled. "Wherever you're now, hold on Legolas. I'm coming to save you." The Elf released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, only to remain breathless and dizzy a mere moment later. "You aren't going to get rid of me so easily, _melethron-ne_. Not now that I know that I love you." Aragorn grinned to the sky. The star overhead tinkled again. Legolas felt like crying and laughing at the same time. That foolish Man! Legolas's love wasn't unrequited! Strider loved him back! Strider hadn't been toying with him! Strider cared for him for real! Strider *loved* him! Strider…

…Strider thought he was dead, or at best alive but hating him with a passion!!!!

Legolas's eyes reached the size of teacups, and whirling around he began searching the wall for a way out. He had to tell the Man! He had to! He groped blindly across the rock-walls, until Frodo jumped from his hiding spot. Legolas turned toward him in surprise, but hadn't time to register fully what was happening that Frodo had already pulled a secret device deep inside one rupture in the wall. A door-like gap appeared right in front of Legolas, and the Elf scampered outside before it had even opened completely. He cried out Strider's name even as he came to his feet, looking around expectantly, already savouring the feeling of Strider's arms wrapped possessively around him.

But Aragorn wasn't there, not anymore, and Legolas's heart fell, his lovely feature scrunched up in hurt and disappointment. He looked down, shoulder hunched, gazing at the grass as though it was the most fascinating sight in the world. He remained quite for a time, and then his whole body straightened suddenly. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides; he looked like he was trying to summon the strength to move, but lacked the energy for anything exceeding quite trembles.

"Legolas?" a voice asked, but the Elf didn't acknowledge the Hobbits until there were standing next to him, and Frodo touched his hand gently. Only then the Hobbit and the Elf looked at each other, and Frodo was astonished to find terrible anger mixing with sadness on Legolas's face.

"Legolas…?" He asked softly, hesitantly, but Legolas heed him not, instead whipping up and around toward his friends' camp, his teeth bared.

"_Yyrch!_" He hissed sharply, reaching for the daggers he hadn't noticed never carrying with him to the Hobbits' city. Sam gasped, and Frodo had the instinctive need to yell the same in Westron.

"Orcs!"

**TBC **

***hits herself on the head repeatedly with Éowyn's frying pan* The fic sort of grew on me, I had to battle one nasty author's block, and as a result the Orcs didn't make their appearance. Ach, sorry everyone… BUT! Next chapter, along with the Orcs' attack, you'll (finally) read of Legolas and Aragorn meeting each other again, this time conscious of their feelings. *wiggles eyebrows* I won't make it sad or romantic, but it'll be still cute, I think… =) **

**On a side note, more detailed info on Morfëataur, the Hobbits, the Shire and Galadriel will be given ASAP, before or when the Company reach Lothlòrien and meet the aforementioned Elven Lady. ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 12 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_I didn't beta-read this… sorry for any mistake/typos/odd phrasing, but I wanted to post it so badly I couldn't wait… _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13/R_  
  


* * * * *

Hadn't Boromir been so wrapped up in his own thoughts (_was she not serious, or was she? Does she want me, or maybe she was joking? Damn, where does what *I* want stand in all of this?… … … what do I *want* in the first place?! Valar…_ ) he might have been able to notice something. Elrohir too was too worried trying to escape Gandalf, and the Wizard himself was too busy trying to assess some serious damage to the aforementioned Elf to really see what was happening. Arwen and Éowyn were indeed too taken up in their fight and the dead animal burned beyond recognition that lied at their feet. While Elladan, who in any other situation would have likely been the first to spot the danger, was too busy trying to save his twin's life, running after Gandalf and all but shouting soothing words to him.

So, no one noticed the Orcs until they attacked, and then it was already too late to do anything.

It was when Aragorn stepped back into the camp, smiling sorrowfully to himself, that Hell broke loose. The Spirits of Morfëataur (who, by now, we all know to be but harmless Hobbits) had been too engrossed with Legolas to play any of their usual tricks (like letting pillars of smoke and light spill heavenwards from the ground; make the trees and bushes rustle with invisibles cords in windless days; stomping their foots from their underground galleries,) and seeing the Forbidden forest so quiet had driven the Orcs to follow the Fellowship and the _Aurêl _they knew to be with them into the woods.

Presently they stood crouched among and beyond the trees, snarling lowly in the dense shadows. Morfëataur was holy ground for Elves, or so it was once, and it made the foul creatures uncomfortable to walk it. Their love for battle was stronger than that ancient fear though, (that, or they'd got annoyed with the stupid author and wanted to make their appearance as she'd promised them a couple of chapters ago,) and as soon as Aragorn entered the camp they leaped on the Company, screaming and howling and generally making a hell of a noise.

It probably would have been wiser to attack *before* the best swordsman of the Company returned but, alas! We're talking about a bunch of *Orcs* here, and one annoyed with the author at that. Pretend to see them do things less than utterly stupid would be, well, stupid. So they rushed forward, cursing the Valar and the author alike (an author that will likely have the Company exterminate said bunches of Orcs without a fight if they don't stop with their petty revolt *now*) and managed to catch them completely off guard.

* * * * *

Elves had always been famous for their promptness. Legolas was the pride and joy of his kin when it came to that, or so it looked like. As soon as his keen ears picked up the hideous uproar of the Orcs' attack he swooped down, tucked each startled Hobbit under one armpit (guess he picked that move from his father,) and dashed towards the secret passage to the Headquarter. Once in front of it he jumped forward, ducked and rolled onto the grotto, not even losing a beat when he reached down, picked up a rock and threw it to the hidden device to close the doors behind him.

Then he leaped to his feet –with the now struggling Hobbits pressed firmly at his sides- and broke in a mad rush into the dark corridor. He made it back into the room where he'd previously left Gimli in less than ten seconds. No need to ask the Elf which was his favourite subject at school: Gym class, with all probabilities.

The Dwarf was checking Merry's letter to the Lady Galadriel when Legolas burst into the room. The door on top of the stairs swung open violently, almost flying off of its hooks, and Legolas appeared behind it. He snubbed the stairs altogether and leaped straight to the middle of the floor and at the Dwarf's feet, dropping Sam and Frodo gently down. He checked the little ones over with one swift glance -too worried to even smile when Sam leaped at the dazed-looking Frodo to check him for any injuries after the wild ride- and then jerked his head up to gaze fiercely at Gimli.

The Elf looked so angered than the very air turned to ice. Gimli started to back really slooooooooooooooowly away, while Lascaran took it to himself to unfasten the pocket of Pippin's tunic, before going up and down on his knees a couple of times; throwing some punches to the right and then to the left; making some general exercises to warm his muscles; and then dived headfirst onto said pocked, hands pressed together and raised above his head. For his part, Pippin hauled dust as he ran away. Some may call him fool, but even he realised instantly that something was very wrong with the Elf. So it wasn't much of a smart thing to do, grabbing his cousin and using him as a shield. Merry just looked a little surprised by the interruption, his mouth and eyes wide and round.

Total silence fell.

  
For a few seconds, none moved (well, none but the still retreating Gimli and Sam's hands, that wouldn't stop running across Frodo's body in search of any damage). Then Legolas's head snapped down, his breathing hard for the anger. If there was something he couldn't stand, that was Orcs. And not only they were walking a place *sacred* for his kin, but were threatening the life of his companions and the only one he'd loved in three thousand years of life. Say that he ached to blindly dispatch death and destruction upon those foul creatures means put it lightly.

"Yyrcs!" he growled lowly. "Into Morfëataur! They're attacking the Fellowship, Gimli! I plead you, please aid my companions, for you alone can save them!" The Elf's pride suffered a great deal in that moment, and Gimli's ego swelled to incredible proportions (another inch, and he would have to duck his head to walk through doors).

Upon hearing Legolas's words Merry gave a gasp, dropping his book onto the cold stony floor.

"It can't be!" He said urgently. "Orcs don't dare approaching these woods, and even if they did the bells…" Frodo swayed on his feet, leaning on Sam for support. Strange that the brief run had affected him *that* much. Uhm, whoever sees this as a ploy to shamelessly lean on the other Hobbit please raise his or her hand.

"The sentinels have been removed from the borders: they too wanted to see Legolas, Merry!" He said. "And even though it's Dwarven work, the bells *can't* ring on their own."

"But," The other Hobbit bit his bottom lip. "There are traps all around that would have set the bell off, had the Orcs stepped on them." Pippin peeked up from behind him, and Lascarean's eyes appeared behind the ridge of his pocket.

"We deactivated them, because the members of the Fellowship stepped on them many and many times a day…" he reminded softly, before hiding again upon feeling the anger that erupted from Legolas in waves. Note to self: never endanger this 'Aragorn' in any way if I don't want to suffer Legolas's wrath.

Legolas just bent further forwards, his forehead hovering inches above the floor.

"Master Gimli, I know my behaviour has been childish and bought you nothing but pain and troubles, but please help me! Don't let those foul creatures harm Aragorn, I beg you! There's nothing I alone can do for him!" It was a bizarre sight, even as it was strangely heart-wrenching. Such a proud and lawless creature reduced on his knees in the name of love. But we all know what a strange feeling love is, and if even Kings have to bow in front of it, why not a Prince, then?

"He's everything to me! It will take my life if he dies, for not even an Elf can survive without his heart! Please! *Please*…" He seemed close to tears, Gimli realized in some far corner of his mind where he'd retreated in his shock. Shaking himself awake the Dwarf gave a whistling sigh and folded his arms across his chest even as he backed away another step (his skin was already starting to itch, curse his allergy).

"Uhmpf." He rumbled deeply in his chest. "Y'know, I'd hate soundin' mushy an' all, but cursed'll be who dare say Gimli son of Glòin woul' eva stop two lova's from meetin' 'gain." Legolas looked up at him, and the hope that shone in his eyes and smile was so beautiful it hurt. Gimli fondled his beard nonchalantly, trying to ignore that look as best as he could. "And ya still might die if I jus' let those vermin close t' that Aragorn of yours, an' I can't have that, not after all-a the trouble ya gave us. Might as well go savin' his ass, since it's about impossible tha'they'll mak'it on their own."

"You will help me, then?" Gimli continued with his pretence of nonchalance even as he was moved by Legolas's feelings for the Man, and waved one hand distractedly to the kneeling Elf.

"Don't worry none, you Elf-kid. If I hafta fight Orcs to death to finally get rid of ya, s'what I'll bloody hell do!" Legolas inhaled sharply, his smile stretching to the point his lips might hurt. The Dwarf turned around from that beautiful smile, and vehemently shook his fist in the air, "All right, ya lamebrains, let's gonna get 'hem!" With a cheer as loud as thousand thunders the Hobbits leaped each into one corridor, all but shouting to their companions it finally was party-time.

For his part Legolas couldn't restrain himself anymore. He leaped at Gimli, squeezing him as he murmured his thanks over and over. He then stamped a huge kiss on the Dwarf's forehead, before sauntering after Pippin and Lascaran. Gimli blinked after him, opening his mouth and imitating a goldfish almost perfectly, and then after a second's time swayed and crumpled onto the floor, out cold and with huge red spots flaming in stark contrast on his olive skin.

It looks like the Spirits will have to party without their Captain, this time.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, back in the camp…

If the Orcs had expected that overcome the Company would have been easy… well, they found a surprise waiting for them. Aragorn, so distraught by Legolas's disappearance was more than happy to have some moving target to vent his rage upon, and Orcs fell in front of his sword as leaves in Autumn. Gandalf, still enraged with Elrohir, had whipped with flaming eyes on the foolish Orcs that had dared leaping at him, and those who didn't break into a run at the fierce look he gave them now sported various souvenirs from the courses he'd shouted without thought: some had a crown of flashing pink hair now, some other had been turned into frogs or lizards, while some had turned into frogs or lizards *with* flashing pink hair. And those weren't even the most shocking effects of his thoughtless shouting – if Gandalf learned something that day, it was to never mix spells.

Boromir, still lost in his private world didn't notice the Orcs attacking them for several minutes, and just mumbled under his breath about marriages and Elves and grief. The shocking thing was that even without noticing anything he managed to dodge each and every attack. And if someone got hurt when the Orcs leaped at him, it was the Orcs themselves. When the Man gathered his wits back at last, he became no less deadly than Aragorn himself, he too needing something to vent his stress upon.

Arwen and Éowyn stood glaring at each other in the middle of the battlefield, flushed faces inches away as they breathed heavily in barely restrained annoyance. It was kinda funny though, because they tried to be nice about it, and smiled half-pleasantly at each other even as their eyes flamed.

"*You* burned our dinner to ashes!" If eyes could burn a hole through people, Éowyn would have a void as big as Rivendell in her head. "Do you *know* how much it took me to catch that deer?!" Arwen all but yelled, pointing the heap of charcoal at her feet.

"I told you already 'lady' Arwen," Éowyn began, raising her fraying pan distractedly to smack in the face the Orc leaping at her from behind. "It's not my doing! The flames Gandalf shot your brother ended up upon *my* deer and burned it so!" Arwen shrieked, poking in the eye the Orc peering over her shoulder, and then retrieving her fork to stab the one sneaking at her from the left without as much as a wobble in her shouting.

"Mine, mine, mine! Anything you place your eyes upon becomes yours?! It does not work quite like that, Princess!" Éowyn gave a screech of her own, running one Orc's arm through with her kitchen knife, and at the same time punching in the face another one.

"Just admit it, that you're jealous because Boromir's mine now!" Arwen gritted her teeth, ducked the Orc-sword aimed at her neck and with a swift movement slashed the stomach of the sword's wielder standing behind her.

"I told you already, he's *not* something you can own!"

"Indeed? Yet he clearly favours me!" Éowyn said, elbowing another Orc.

"He's just being *polite*, for the Valar's sake!" Arwen replied with raising fervour, taking care of three Orcs at the same time. "And if there's someone he favours, that's *me*! He grew up in my *home*, and *I* am the one that raised him!" Éowyn sneered, and another Orc fell.

"Then you can see on your own that you're too old for him, granny! How could he *ever* look at you that way if you mothered him?!" Arwen's pale face became as red as the strawberries she loved so much, and *four* were the Orcs that fell this time.

"Who said anything about… about… about **such** things?!"

"Ah! Wake up, that's called denial, my dear!" They kept on like that, and Orcs fell and fell and fell AND fell as the two bickered and yelled. Had the foul creatures been less dull they'd understood it wasn't that clever to come between two Ladies fighting upon a man, but they were just mere Orcs. So it was that they kept attacking, even if every time they did they'd immediately dash away, bawling in pain or fear.

Elladan and Elrohir were, at first glance, the only ones really in danger of the whole Company. Busy tending to the burnt marks Gandalf had made Elrohir (_my hair! He burned my hairtips that cursed Wizard! May the Valar punish him as he deserves!) _neither Elladan or his twin did anything to stop the Orcs, and now stood, side by side, pressed against an ancient tree as the foul creature advanced on them.

"Elladan?"

"Hm?"

"I heard… I heard Orcs like to eat Elves at times." The muscles on Elrohir's throat worked soundly as he swallowed, loosening the collar of his shirt nervously. Elladan looked the approaching creatures with eyes shockingly huge.

"You *do*?!" He all but shouted, and when the Orcs drew back their lips and smirked, showing rows upon rows of sharp teeth he swirled round, pinching his twin's belly and grinning nervously. "If you want to eat someone, then eat him! What would be better, much and fatty flesh like his, or the skin and bones of such a scrawny creature as I am?" He murmured pleadingly, hollowing his cheeks slightly.

Elrohir swirled on his twin, looking on the verge of tears. He sported one perfect pout, complete with huge watery eyes, glistening teardrops at the corner of said puppy dog eyes, trembling bottom lip showed forward and flushed cheeks.

"But, Elladan!!" He shouted pleadingly, worrying the fabric of his shirt with trembling fingers. "Would you really let them eat me, your only brother? Your beloved twin, flesh of your flesh and blood of your blood? He who sang lullabies to you when you were little-"

"That was me, Elrohir."

"-that let you win all the times we trained with either sword or bow, just to see you smile-"

"That was *me*, Elrohir."

"-that protects you each and every time Father discovers you've done some mischief-"

"Elrohir? Hello? Anyone home? That's *me*."

Fascinated more than anything, the Orcs all dropped on the floor, legs crossed, and reclined back, snacking on some dried meat and what looked like vegetables (bear with them, popcorn and chocolate pocky still had to be invented) as they watched the two identical creatures fight. Distracted as they were they didn't even notice it when both twins reached for their weapons and pounced.

Soon only a heap of unconscious bodies remained of the attackers, and Elladan stood proudly above it, hands on his hips and long hair flowing in the breeze. It almost ruined his moment of glory when a hand curled in his cloak and pulled, though. He stumbled backwards and lmaost lost his footing, but managed to recover himself just in time, swaying a little and flaying his arms wildly. Then he turned, and it was to see his brother's pouting face few inches from his.

"Elladan…" Elrohir sniffled.

"Hm?" A blink.

"…do you really think I'm fat…?" He never had time to reply, though, because new Orcs leaped at them from the surrounding trees, and the battle began again.

* * * * *

No matter how many Orcs fell, hundreds more kept coming, vomited from the shadow as thought it was breeding them. They came, wave after wave of foul creatures, as though the Company stood on the shores of an Ocean of evilness. Aragorn wondered briefly if the trick they'd used last time could work again, and hoped will all his might for some help.

He would later wonder if he didn't have some psychic power or something, because the moment he thought it, Legolas appeared from the woods, a vision of light and nobility amidst the shadows. He gave a battle cry, diving onto the host of Orcs with the same passion of a fangirl jumping her favourite star's goodies during sales. At his command the forest itself became alive, the Spirits of Morfëataur answering his call with fervour. Again pillars of smoke came, intertwining and melting as they spiralled upwards. Flames and light burst into scorching jets from the ground even as it opened and swallowed most of the Orcs. It was but a bunch of tricks, made thanks to the strange devices Gimli and the Hobbits were keen to build, but to the Orcs it looked like work of evil magic, and they scampered away as fast as their clumsy legs allowed, giving fearful cries.

The few fools that remained behind were summarily dealt each a quick, sharp blow with one weapon by the Company members and the brave Hobbits that had come to the surface in full battle attires – harmed with forks and kitchen knifes and wearing metal basins as makeshift helmets. Soon only one Orc remained, and when he too fell, it was because Aragorn and Legolas both hit him. Andurìl sliced the Orc's throat even as one of Legolas's arrows (he'd retrieved a bow and a quiver in the underground city) embedded itself on his dark heart. The foul creature fell on the ground as though moving in slow motion, and as he did both the Man and the Elf became aware that nothing now stood between them.

The smoke and light and flames disappeared as though they'd never been there. Countless secret passages were opened and Hobbits crowded the ruined battlefield as wave after wave of cheers exploded. Gimli too appeared on the surface, scratching thoughtlessly the proofs of his allergy, and promptly went to explain to the Company who and what he and his fellows were (even though he refused to come any close to the Elves or Éowyn, who was dressed like an Elf herself; and would talk only with Boromir and Gandalf).

But none of this reached Legolas or Aragorn as they stood gazing at each other, lost in a world of their own were nothing existed but them. After a breathless eternity the first to move was Legolas. He leaped forward, cat-like and yet eager, shouting Aragorn's name so loud as though wanting the whole Eä to hear it. And Aragorn just echoed him, shouting Legolas's name at the top of his lungs even as he dashed forwards with arms wide open. Soon, but barely soon enough, they were lost in an embrace, hidden and forbidden emotions flaring into sudden life at the touch.

What happened afterwards, none of them was sure how it started or who did, but surely neither wanted it to ever end. Their lips met, and they kissed eagerly, desperately; as if tomorrow wasn't to come. And the electricity was instantaneous. So overwhelming and undeniable, shocking them both to their core. The world suddenly fell from underneath them, and revelling in the warmth spreading through them they held each other tightly, as thought letting go would mean dying. Somewhere deep inside they'd wanted this. Since they first met they'd desired nothing else, even though they did not know it. And as it happened at last, it exhilarated and scared them, for never before they'd felt anything akin that. Such power, such bliss. All that passion, all that emotion. Each could feel the other's soul and heart in the kiss, and the way they were given to him without restrain or fear.

Their lips and tongues met in eager touches, over and over again in an oddly exhilarating dance, pouring passion from one mouth to the other and back. As though their very souls were meeting and melting right then; as though their hearts were fusing together in blissful abandon.

The need to breath forced them apart all too soon, and when they pulled reluctantly apart it was to share the sweetest of smiles, each marvelling at how right it felt to hold and kiss and belong to the other. It was in that moment that a foreign noise seeped into their private, wonderful world, and as Éowyn screeched profanities at the Ranger, they became finally aware of what they'd done, and of the audience that had witnessed it. Immediately they jumped apart, as if burned. They swirled around wildly in their embarrassment, looking at anything but each other, and then dashed away into opposite directions.

Well, that's what they did until Aragorn realized that last time it had happened Legolas had got lost for days, so he abruptly changed his course and dashed after the embarrassed Elf with a blush of his own standing proudly on his angled cheekbones. In the background, Éowyn squawked, held back by Boromir before she could launch herself at the fleeing Ranger. She struggled and shouted angrily, kicking her legs to try and gain leverage to pull out of the Man's hold, while Arwen all but tried to pry the two apart, her own shouts and whines adding to the general confusion.

Gimli and the Hobbits just cheered, some laughing, some whistling, while Gandalf –who stood between Elladan and Elrohir- just held out his hands to the two, one in front of each twin, palms turned expectantly up. When he returned his hands to his pockets, it was too fill them with the gold he'd won.

Aaah, if just all the bets were *that* easy to win! As if there had ever be *any* doubt that those two would fall in love… He was more than sure that everything would go wonderfully from now on, from their journey to their wedding…

…especially when they told them about it!

**TBC **

***bows* Sorry for the delay, but school, work, new Aragolas fics and whatnot kept me too busy to update! *bowsbowsbowsbows* To any of you that was confused by all the strange devices filling Morfëataur: sorry! *bows again* Let me give you a proper explanation! **

**All those devices are made of wood and function thanks with steam, so they aren't all that technological (no microchips, no electricity, no computers or anything.) =) The showers and microphones aren't really *showers* and *microphones*. Not the ones we know and use, at least. ^^;; Not having lakes where they can bath underground, the Hobbits just store water in huge containers inside (or without) their houses and use it to take baths. They just happened to 'invent' showers, creating a device that would pump up the water from its container and then make it rain back down upon them. **

**The 'microphones' are but goblets connected to long 'tubes' that allow their voices to be heard on the surface. And in fact the ominous voices of the Spirits that Legolas heard in chapter 9 was Gimli's voice brought up to the surface through those pipes… … … … … Valar, I suck at explaining. -_-;; **

**About the terraships and the airship … well, I just had to put in the latter because I'm a HUGE Final Fantasy and RPG fan, and every RPG has its own airship. ^_^ The terraships are something I made up, and I needed them to speed up the Company's journey: using one of those they can reach Lothlòrien in no time, and we'll have more yummilicious A/L moments once they get there. ^_^ Both the airship and the terraships move with the steam engine (like FFIX's own airship, for those who've played the game) **

**The secret door that opened in the previous chapter (and that Legolas closed rather… theatrically in this one, LOL ) is just like one of those secret passages you see filling castles and palaces in all the Fantasy movies (like… uhm… dunno, the only thing I can think of right now if the sliding trapdoor in Dragonheart…) **

**I hope this was useful and comprehensible. Unluckily I really *suck* at explaining, and usually my explanations are more confusing than anything. ---___---()**


	13. Chapter 13 mushy stuff ahead!

**  
**

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 13 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_I made this chapter short on purpose, telling solely of what Aragorn and Legolas say to each other when they're finally alone. I.E.= an Elf and a Man cuddling and kissing and generally being awfully *cute*! ;) _

**_Warning: _**_Albeit there's *no* sex scene in this, while holding Legolas Aragorn does have a natural reaction also known as erection. #^^# If you don't want to read of such things, or they offend you in any way, please skip this chapter. Or maybe jump from the paragraph that starts with "sadly it was over" straight to the one that starts with "After all". That way you won't read anything about Aragorn's reaction to Legolas's proximity. ;) _

**_Rating:_**_ R_  
  


* * * * *

Aragorn ran after Legolas at top speed, both his legs and lungs screaming in protest, having been proved already by the battle against the Orcs and the long days spent with hardly any nourishment. Luckily for him Legolas hadn't ran far and Aragorn found him soon, standing at the edge of a calm lake. The water was immobile, and the darkness gave room to a little sunlight along the white sandy shores. Pale radiance spilled from above, sliding through a shivering leaf and another to create shapeless patterns of black and gold on the ground. Legolas stood there bathed in the soft brilliance; so ethereal and beautiful, as though woven of the light itself.

Hadn't Aragorn been breathless already for the run, he would have been struggling for breath at the mere sight of him.

Legolas pretended not to notice the man slinking up behind him, even though Aragorn knew he had heard him coming for sure. He came behind the Elf, and hesitantly wrapped his arms around him, tugging the lithe one gently until they were pressed one against the other, with Legolas's fair head laying gently on Aragorn's broad shoulder. The Man knew there was something he should say or do, but for the moment being he did nothing but bury his nose in Legolas's hair and bask in his sweet scent. He'd missed the Elf so much… And there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind… so many that he was not sure which one to pick and voice first. Some were not enough, some where too… childlike, some a little too bold. And only very few of those could expound the depths of his feelings. All of his love, his relief, his joy. They way they twined inside him in a hot wave, a fire that consumed him even as it warmed him.

So he just held Legolas closer, and closer still when he felt the Elf relax against him.

"I'm… back." Legolas whispered, and felt Aragon's breath hot and moist against his skin as the Man smiled, nuzzling his face against the side of the Elf's neck.

"Yes, you are. And I'm so… so… *grateful*…" There was something in his voice; something that made it soft and heavy at the same time, and that made Legolas's heart skip a whole bunch of beats. "I wanted to see you. I wanted you to come back." He reached around to cup Legolas's chin and tilted the Elf's head to meet his eyes. "And I thought you had died, also. I thought you had died and that it was my fault. And when I thought that, my chest burned so much I couldn't breathe." Legolas met Aragon's unwavering gaze shakily, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Don't ever go away, Legolas. Whatever happens, just don't leave me again."

Legolas's eyes widened, their colour suspended between otherworldly blue and soothing green, wisps of golden flickering in their depths.

"…Strider?" His heart pounded. Soundly, and a little too quick, which was unusual for an Elf such as he. It was not for the run, that much he was sure of. It was for the Man's closeness, the emotions he saw swaying in his gaze. Emotion he knew even when he shouldn't, and that seeing bare in such a way were making him feel weak, deliciously warm.

"Whatever you do…" The Ranger whispered, "Don't ever leave me…"

"Never…" the Elf agreed softly, shifting in the Man's arms to face him, and took his stubbled face in his cupped hands. "Won't you…" he said softly, barely an inch from Strider's lips. "…tell me why?" And Aragorn grinned, that smug grin of his that irritated Legolas so much, mostly because he loved it beyond words.

Without a word the Man plunged down, capturing Legolas's lips an earth-shattering kiss to which the Elf responded instantly, with fiery passion, his hands sliding up Strider's face and then around his neck. When they finally parted, a good deal of minutes later, Aragorn was still grinning, smugness written all over his face as he watched Legolas try to catch his breath. Once he was done, the Elf glared at the Man, ready for one of their usual quarrels, when Aragorn managed to surprise him *yet* again.

"Because I love you Legolas, and it is my wish to share with you what time the Valar will grant me." And then the hearty confession was followed by another fierce kiss, one that Legolas was powerless to refuse him. In fact, he responded to it with all the passion he could muster, winding his arms tighter around the Man's neck to press their bodies closer together.

It was bliss.

Pure bliss.

The few parts of their bodies that weren't in sheer contact were reached and warmed by the feverish caresses they shared. Legolas's body fit *perfectly* against Aragon's own – a match made in Valinor.

Sadly it was over relatively soon, even thought not before the first few buttons of Legolas's tunic got loose and that Legolas's hand found its way under the Man's shirt. If truth be told it ended because Aragorn's lower regions seemed to have a mind of their own, responding to Legolas's closeness in a very peculiar (and indecent) way. It was a natural reaction, especially in the light of the beauty of the Elf in his arms, of the feelings the Man held for him, and of all had come to pass before he could hold the Elf so.

Either way, it surprised Legolas.

His eyes flew open upon feeling the Man's body reacting to him – it was undeniable, powerful and hot against his own groin. He jumped away from the Man with flushed cheeks, glaring at Strider through his lashes once he was at a safe distance. Aragorn just stood there scratching the back of his head, looking at anywhere but Legolas's eyes as his breeches became even tighter.

His rescue came in the form of a bunch of child-like creatures, four of them to be accurate, that all but began dancing around Legolas frantically, shouting at the two of them it was time to return to the base. Legolas gave his thanks with a gentle smile; then prompted the children to lead the way, his arms still wrapped protectively around his body. The four…err… *five* (there was Squirrel dressed in full battle regalia perched atop one of the little ones' shoulder), bounced back in the direction they'd come from, shouting and cheering and singing silly songs about "Scare-scare-scare the weedy Orcs awaaaaaay!". Legolas smiled after them for a moment, and then turned to glare at Aragorn.

"Strider…" he said in a low voice, and Aragorn shrank under the icy glare he *knew* (even without looking) that he was receiving. Well, not that he did so literally. To be honest, even as Legolas talked there was a quite visible bulge in the Man's constrictive breeches. Strider clenched his eyes shut, expecting Legolas to be as angry as never before at him.

After all, even if they were extremely open minded when it came to nudity and such, no Elf would ever even *talk* about sex lightly, least of all show his desire so openly. They thought that sharing their body with someone was a sacred thing - like a ritual of sorts, a vow of love or loyalty given without words. And the concept alone that some would share his of her body for mere and feeling-free pleasure scandalized many a Elf. So, seeing how Aragorn had reacted to his proximity, Legolas would most likely seethe, probably even thinking the Man shallow and his feelings fake.

Strider clenched his fists until he felt his own nails pierce his flesh, preparing himself for the blow; for Legolas's shouts, his anger and his rejection. But when the blow came, it was nothing like he had expected it to be;

"You're a pervert." Legolas did say, but something didn't sound quite right in his tone: Aragorn thought he heard laughter rippling deep in the sweet elven voice, and was temped to look up. After a moment's struggle he did exactly so, and was rewarded by the brightest smile he'd ever see in his life.

"Let us go. We're awaited." Legolas said softly, reaching out for Aragorn. The Man was stunned, and something inside the Elf's eyes made him reach out to the extended hand before his mind even grasped what he was doing.

It shocked him when, with a laugh, Legolas grasped his hand and dragged him in the same direction the children had disappeared. But that shock was nothing compared to the blissful pang he felt in his heart when Legolas whirled around abruptly, letting their chest bump, and stopped his dash only long enough to place a quick kiss on the Man's lips.

"Amin mela lle, Strider." Legolas said, his breath soft as summer breeze against Aragorn's mouth. "I love you too."

He turned, looking to where they were dashing to, squeezing the hand he held gently. And this time, when he moved again, their fingers were entwined, a solid grip, warm and comforting, that seemed to bind them. This time, as they skidded along and laughed high, Aragorn was no more a dead weight behind him. He ran by his side and squeezed his hand and still stopped, now and then, to hold and kiss him and spin him around.

**The end? Sounds like it, but nooo… see you in the next chapter! ^_^V **

**All of us together now: that was muuuuuuuuuuuuuuushy… *sigh dreamily* what can I say? I love them. ^_^ Oh, how I love them. ^_^ I absolutely adore this couple. ^_^ **

**But there's something about this fic that bugs me: I can already tell you that in Lothlòrien something very important will happen between Aragorn and Legolas to further cement their relationship. But… what about Boromir?! o_O **

**The poor thing… I've many ideas, but… would it be good with you if while they're in Lothlòrien I focused a tiny bit on his own love-life (using some fabulous matchmakers…) other than on Aragorn and Legolas…? Or you'd rather read about Aragorn and Legolas, but not about Boromir's own feelings? **

**Please let me know your opinion… I can't start writing the next chapter if I don't decide which one of the many plots I thought I should follow…**


	14. Chapter 14

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 14 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_*bows-bows-bows-bows* I'm sorry it took me one eternity and half to upload this, but I had… … …issues to deal with. Probably it will take a lot to post the other chapters as well… Sorry, really, but it's not my fault… _ I was rather depressed, but writing this cheered me up a whole lot! Hope you'll like it! ^^ _

**_Rating:_**_ R_  
  


* * * * *

Everything was ready for the Company's departure from Morfëataur.

The Terraship —as the Hobbits called the strange-looking machine— was at the ready in an impossibly huge grotto, teetered beside a high dais of stone and facing a tunnel leading to Lothlórien. All in all, the famed Terraship looked like a trail of high carriages bound together by thick cables of hard metal; it shone scarlet and gold and wet-like black in the dim light cast by the torches hanging from the cave-walls. Candid steam drifted up from the head of the Terraship, twirling around in lazy circles; and every now and then the giggle of gibbering bells could be heard from within the first carriage.

In the second carriage were four chattering Hobbits and one very excited Squirrel who, for the occasion, had dug out from his closet (Lascaran had a *closet*?! Valar…) his best piece of clothing – a miniature tunic of silvery velvet, iridescent in the scarce light, and one tiny golden chain that hung now around his neck. In truth he'd decided to put on a hat of black embellished with a russet Eagle-feather too; but provided that said feather was twice Lascaran's own height and thus made it impossible for him to walk straight, (in truth, its weight had sent the Squirrel crashing down on the floor and helpless to raise, but he'd rather forget that one), he'd decided it would be best to wear no hat at all (even because, try as they might, not even the Hobbits nor Gimli had been able to pull the feather from the hat)

A third compartment followed the Hobbit-packed one, housing only some food and clear water other than huge (and I mean HUGE) books about Family Trees and Hobbit Genealogies. That was the one carriage the "Fellowship of the Star" (that's how the Hobbits had named their guests) would have travelled on. The Fellowship itself was gathered on the dais, eyeing the Terraship strangely even as Gimli instructed them on what to do and what to tell the Fair Lady Galadriel once in Lórien.

The last carriage, black of colour and seemingly heavier, had been loaded already with the Fellowship's few possessions and the gifts they'd received from the Hobbits. Surprisingly enough, Éowyn had recognized most of those gifts as those that Thranduil had given her for Elrond and that she'd lost; in fact when she saw them she'd collapsed on her knees in utter relief at the thought that her head wouldn't be removed from its right place on her neck anytime soon.

It was perfect, really.

Only one minor, trivial, inconsequential, petty, irrelevant, not-to-mention insignificant little detail was still amiss: Legolas and Aragorn were nowhere to be found.

Not that it was news, really. Since the shocking kiss they'd shared in front of the Company and the Hobbits all, they'd often disappeared; and when they came back, hours later, few were surprised to see them slightly dishevelled, and tugging and pulling suspiciously at their clothes. To the records, if they preferred to stay away from the Fellowship it was to keep Aragorn safe from Éowyn's untameable wrath; but partly –if not mostly- it was to… well… you know. Let's call it "enjoy and explore the depths of their newfound love." There - it didn't sound half as dirty as it may actually be. I'm proud of myself. ^_^

Anyway, the Company was used to these disappearances of theirs by now – well, all of them except Éowyn, of course. And you can't imagine exactly how *much* did Gandalf earn by betting with the twins or the Hobbits on how long and when Aragorn and Legolas would disappear, or on exactly how dishevelled they would be once back. Just another couple pieces of gold and he'd be the richest creature to ever walk Middle Earth.

None of the members of the Fellowship was, though, particularly content that the two lovebirds had decided to disappear when they were needed the most – i.e. when they were supposed to be sitting still and quiet in the Terraship on their way towards the Golden Woods. Maybe, the only exception was Arwen. She'd been sitting on the dusty stone floor watching the Terraship for the past dunno-how-long-but-surely-too-much, singing softly to herself. She was bored, true, but still infinitely glad that her cousin and her dear childhood friend seemed to share a love as pure as those sung in the tales of old.

Oh, why couldn't she find herself such a fairy-tale love?!

Something deep in her brain stirred as she contemplated the idea, and observed smartly that she had all the ingredients needed for a homemade fairy-tale love; namely: a handsome Knight called Boromir that adored her, and a whole package of strange symptoms –quickened heartbeat, furious blushing, countless hours of daydreaming, naked jealousy – that kicked into action each time the aforementioned Knight was in sight.

She frowned but kept singing, as her brain went through another "No, I do not love Boromir." self-convincing session.

No-no-no-no-no. No matter what Éowyn said she was not, and I repeat NOT in love with Boromir.

Period.

Maybe the other way around.

Yeah.

After all, there was NO WAY IN HELL Boromir could prefer Éowyn at her.

She'd rather throw herself off a cliff (after pounding both Boromir and her rival to death into a wall, of course) before she let another touch *her* Boromir.

And no, she was not jealous, thankyouverymuch.

"That is the tale of Nimrodel, isn't it?" Suddenly she heard someone approaching on silent feet and stopped singing, turning slightly to one side. Boromir had walked up to her and stood now beside her, bent at the waist and with his hands pressed flat on each of his knees. He smiled at her, more like smirked, and Arwen nodded.

"Yes." She turned toward the Terraship and "It's my favourite tale, next to that of Beren and Lúthien." she added, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Boromir made a face, but she could not see it behind her back.

"I'm not quite fond of that one lay." He said softly, but his voice was strangely firm. Arwen would have been affronted beyond words in any other occasion, but –being she already occupied trying to tame the mutiny within her mind- she let it slid aside with a shrug.

"Why not? It's beautiful how Lúthien forsook her immortality for love. It's a great sacrifice. She must have loved him beyond words."

"I don't like *that*." Boromir replied firmly. Arwen's eyes narrowed. A long silence stretched between them. The Knight looking at the Lady and the Lady thinking about the Knight.

Surprise, surprise.

Not that she'd been able to think about much else of late.

In truth she'd began thinking of him more and more, especially whenever Éowyn dared attaching herself to *her* Knight. But, ehy, it wasn't a Freudian thing, right? Okay, she liked the Man – he was nice and everything, but that did not mean that she fancied him, right? The fact that she'd been teasing him like *that* of late did not mean that she was jealous, right? And the fact she was ready to pounce him at any time, and pepper his face with kisses and give him her necklace if he said something even vaguely comparable to a declaration, did not mean *at all* that she was in love with him, *right*?!

The annoying corner of her mind from before made another smart remark, putting the slightest emphasis on the fact that she shouldn't_be_so_sure_of_it_my_dear.

The offending brain-deep portion was immediately dealt a quick blow, bound, gagged and put to rest by the rest of her brain. An Elven Lady as she couldn't afford to have her brain go wild like that, especially when in front of many people and in a foreign land. 

At last she huffed, vaguely irritated that the annoying –and gagged- voice in her mind was now –despite the gags!- laughing hysterically at her and her lack of logical retort to the whole "being in love with Boromir" issue.

"Well, I *do* like it." She said eventually, rocking back and forth like a sulky child – another of those typically human moves Estel had taught his elven cousins without meaning to. "And I assure you I'd do the same thing as she, given the chance." 

She did not know why she said it, but the moment she did she realized it was true. Odd, but true. It irritated the Man though; he grimaced at her words, before straightening abruptly and walking away with long strides.

"Exactly the reason why I don't like it." She thought she heard him hiss, but before she could question him, before she could grasp his hand and stop him from leaving, Aragorn and Legolas tumbled into the grotto, laughing hard and looking extremely happy and –dare we say it?- immensely satisfied. Their cheeks were rosy –hopefully for the long run and not for anything obscene…- and their eyes twinkled. Their hands were intertwined, and Legolas tugged Aragorn forward with him as though their palms had been glued together and there wasn't anything strong enough to ever detach them.

"Are we late?" the blonde Elf asked innocently, very well knowing they were supposed to be already half-way down the tunnel by now, which commonly speaking means they were late of at least two hours. Gimli rolled his eyes at him, but did so good-naturedly. The look of pure hatred Éowyn bestowed upon Aragorn was not friendly at all, though.

"Y'jus'had t'be a botha' till th'last minute of it Elf-kid, hadn't'chu?" Legolas flashed the Dwarf his brightest smile, batting his eyelashes at him in his best "I'm an adorable and innocent creature and you know that you love me"–look.

"Would I *ever*…?"

"As sure as Hell, Elf-kid." Gimli interrupted, raising a thick eyebrow at the now chuckling Elf. The expression of mixed puzzlement and amusement looked funny on the usually collected Dwarf, and Legolas had to bury his face against Aragorn's shoulder to keep the laughter at bay. It didn't help much though, and soon Legolas had wormed his way in the Man's welcoming arms, his face nuzzled against Aragorn's chest, as he shook with quiet laughter.

Éowyn didn't like the scene in the slightest, but in order not to delay their departure any more, she did nothing more but eye Aragorn angrily and with her arms crossed, tapping one feet in ominous warning.

"I hope you're *done* delaying us all, *Ranger*." She said irritably, glaring emphatically to her favourite victim Aragorn. The Man smiled nervously at her, tugging the collar of his shirt loose with his free hand, trying at the same time to hold Legolas, push him away some and rearrange his own unruly hair clothes as best as he could. This earned him another scowl, but in the end Éowyn opted for hurting him not, just this once.

Instead she turned toward Gimli, and on her face was a sweet, grateful smile. She took hold of both his hands and pressed them to her chest as she dropped gracefully to her knees.

"I plead you Master Gimli to forgive us for all the problems we may have caused you and your adorable companions." She flashed a brief smile at the Hobbits gathered close behind Gimli, watching them as they puffed out their chests proudly. "And let me thank you once again for the help you gave us." She continued. "May your courage and generosity become a beacon in these dark times for us as for all in need of hope." Gimli gave a fierce laugh, and disentangled himself from the Elven-looking Lady's grasp as politely as he could (he feared that his allergy could kick into action at any time, even thought he could tell Éowyn was not a real Elf; but he tried to hide his discomfort at her closeness, suspecting that Éowyn in offended mode was something he would *never* want to see).

"Nay, y'needn't thank me, M'lady. Th'only reason we look'd out fo'your asses's'cause Elf-kid here's got the hots fo' th'Man."

"Gimli, *please*…" Legolas mumbled from within the circle of Aragorn's arms, mortified and red in the face. Aragorn though, who looked *very* interested in what the Dwarf was saying, pleaded him to go on, wiggling his eyebrows at Legolas as the Dwarf narrated how the Elf had literally begged for help to save 'his beloved Aragorn' (never once even mentioning 'his companions', or 'his friends').

By the end of the tale Éowyn was being pinned to the floor, restrained from leaping at Aragorn by Gandalf, both the twins and a whole bunch of Hobbits; meanwhile, Legolas had turned such an amusing shade of red by then that it was almost impossible to tell him from the flaming Terraship. Not to mention the effects the tale had on Aragorn's ego! It had reached proportions that could rival those reached by Gimli's own when Legolas had bowed before him and showered him with compliments.

It looked like the departure from Morfëataur would be delayed some more, but luckily for them Pippin had had enough of waiting. The young Hobbit peeked from one of the Terraship's windows, and with a cry of "Are we going or *not*?!" he threw a them a bawling and scared-looking Lascaran-missile.

What had happened? One moment he was sitting peacefully on his own seat (you didn't expect Lascaran not to pretend a seat of his own, did you?), reading the news (the *news*?! Heck, this Squirrel is a constant surprise…); and the next he was soaring through the air, his arms flailing, headed directly for Legolas.

The Elf caught the little thing effortlessly, and in turn it attached himself to Legolas's hand, showering the Elf's thumb with grateful kisses and hot tears. Aragorn chuckled and whispered comfortingly to the Squirrel. Lascaran looked up, sniffled, and promptly threw himself at the Man's neck, his tears falling fountain-like.

"Sorry, Lascaran!" Pippin hollered from the Terraship, one hand cupper around his mouth and the other waving wildly in the air. "I just wanted to wave you, not to throw you." He said, looking sincerely sorry, but also as though he waved his friends in the air at a daily routine. Lascaran looked up, watched the Hobbit through a veil of tears, sniffled, and then whipped back around to cry (again) against Aragorn's neck, bawling in Squirrel-ish (or whatever tongue Squirrels use) about what could have he done to be treated so badly.

Legolas chuckled; and then noticed all of a sudden that to protect his beloved from the Squirrel-missile Aragorn had picked him up and held him now against his chest. He knew he shouldn't, especially not when Éowyn was around, but Legolas could not resist the temptation. Sighing dreamily to himself he snuggled closer to the Man's warmth, blushing pink. The action resulted into three predictable reactions:

a) Aragorn looked down at him, smiled, and held him even closer.

b) Éowyn –though she was still being pinned to the floor by many restrainers- screeched angrily and leaped up, though the weight of all those who were on her sent her sprawled back on the floor.

c) The twins began roaring with laughter, and while Elladan grinned smugly at Gandalf, Elrohir hollered to his cousin, "C'mon, why don't you just give him another of those heart-shattering kisses, Aragorn? We know you want to!"

Aragorn obviously brightened up considerably (not that he was in a bad mood before, but his face literally lit up at the thought of kissing Legolas), but Gandalf gave a scowl, knowing very well that if the two kissed now he would lose the bet he'd made with the twins.

Luckily for him, but unluckily for Aragorn, when the Man leaned down to claim Legolas's lips the Elf stopped him, merely placing a finger across the Man's mouth. He glanced briefly but efficiently at the fuming Éowyn, and Aragorn –despite himself- put the Elf down, expression sullen. Legolas, being the kind-hearted Elf that he is, could not stand to see Aragorn sad; so he leaned closer to whisper something into the Man's ear.

Well, whatever it was, it put a smile on Aragorn's face as bright as one thousand suns, even if more than a little dazed.

As quick as lightning he grasped Legolas's hand and all but dashed into the Terraship, shouting his goodbyes to Gimli and the Hobbits as well as prompting his companions to follow and do it *quickly*.

Some grinning and shaking their head, one picking himself up from the ground -having lost the hold he had on Aragorn's neck when the Man had dashed away- one fuming and muttering curses, two paying a bet they'd lost, and one smiling from ear to ear as he carefully placed the Gold he'd won in his pocket, they complied; and very soon the Hobbits staying on the dais beckoned to the one piloting the Terraship it was time to go.

So, with a clamour of bells and Hobbit cheers, the newly reunited Fellowship of The Star began its voyage to Lothlórien, the Golden Wood of the Elves, Realm of Magic, Land of the Golden Lady, not to mention current residence of the Hobbits' one and only "C'ptain in Chief" – the Lady Galadriel, Wife of Celeborn, Mother of Celebrian and especially very_very_VERY protective Grandmother of Arwen…

… a very_very_VERY protective Grandmother who –we'd like to remind you- had been standing straight and still and feeling stupid in a dusty and dark grotto (not to mention in front of the whole Lothlórien Philharmonic Orchestra), waiting mutely for a Fellowship that was already three hours late.

To say that she felt murderous, means put it lightly…

*very* lightly…

**TBC **

**What do you think? ^_^ I hope you like how things are going between Aragorn and Legolas… and that you approve of Boromir and Arwen! Do you think I should develop it further? ^_^ Drop me a review if you've got any comment – I'd love to hear from you!!! ^^ **


	15. Chapter 15

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 15 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_Happiness is coming back online after a long period away from your PC, and find a lot of reviews and mails for you. =) Thank you all for your encouragement! You're all so wonderful! I'm so happy you're still reading this! I did my best, and sincerly hope this lives up to your expectations! *crosses fingers* _

**_Note 2: _**_I finally got to explain why the Hobbits live in the Underground City… I hope everything is clear, but since I've the strangely annoying quality to make even the simplest things complicated when I write them down, if you have any questions, tell me! =) _

**_Note 3: _**_I messed up with The Hobbit… _

**_Rating:_**_ R_  
  


* * * * *

The sun was at its zenith, and casting warmness through the trees, reaching its golden fingers across Morfëataur. Birds chirped high in the sky, but from amidst the woods came the noise of stomping feet, the low thumping punctuated every now and then by a foul cry – Orcs marched through Morfëataur towards Lothlòrien, just slightly behind the Hobbits' terraship.

As the host of foul creatures sped up past Dol Guldur –former stronghold of their Lord Sauron– an Eagle flew from the ruins over the Orcs, as if to follow them. It was huge, incredibly so, its auburn body blazed like fire in the blue. Its keen eyes flashed, as it eyed the host speeding off far below. The regal Eagle circled over the Orcs twice; then, with a shrieking cry, set off towards the sun, disappearing in the golden radiance as if it had never been there.

Oblivious, the Terraship continued its underground journey.

"Cookies, anyone?" Pippin grinned happily as he slid open the compartment door and launched himself in a vacant seat.

"Please!" Éowyn said cheerfully, reaching for a handful of Sam's butter-and-honey cookies. Elladan and Elrohir were happy to grab each a dozen of cookies and recline back in their seats to munch on them. Boromir and Gandalf declined the offer politely, while the other Hobbits pounced on the offered food. Arwen just picked up one cookie, smiling delightedly as she took a bite off it.

"These cookies are the most delicious thing I've ever tasted, Master Sam." She said. "I hope you'll teach me the recipe one day?" Sam, blushing to the roots of his hair, stole the tray of cookies from Pippin and Éowyn's eager hands and hurried to save a couple of cookies for the elven Lady.

"They're not that good, Milady…" he said, offering her one cookie. She took it, laughing gently.

"Arwen will do. And yes, they're truly delicious."

"I want the recipe, too." Éowyn said through a mouthful of cookies, nodding emphatically. "The best way to win a Man's heart is through his stomach, after all!" She said, glancing at Boromir.

"Is it?" Elladan said, one eyebrow quirked up. Under Éowyn's sudden glare he squirmed slightly, thoughtlessly stealing a cookie from his brother's hands.

"*Yes*." She said.

So far, the journey of the "Fellowship-of-the-Star-with-the-momentary-addiction-of-Four-Hobbits-and-one-Squirrel" (has Gandalf had called it), had been safe and pleasant. Soon after the departure, the members of the company had eaten and dozed off a little. Now, between a load of cookies and one of cake, the Hobbits were telling their guests the story of Morfëataur, positively basking in all the attention they were getting.

Sam in particular, was very proud to say that Arwen though him the nicest and cutest of them all, and the Hobbit was doing everything in his power (and beyond) to prove her right, please her and, most of all make, her laugh. If anyone was to ask for his opinion (which he noted they did not) he'd confess he didn't like in the slightest the look of sadness that had stolen in Arwen's eyes, making her silent and her face less radiant.

The sweet Hobbit had been making a show of himself for the last hours - standing tall on his seat and saying poetry, while helping Frodo relate the tale of Morfëataur, just to try and swipe it away.

_What could have caused her light to diminish so?_ Sam asked himself. _And why does no one seem to notice, not even her brothers? Could it mean… ? Sweet Lady… she's been suffering for so long that they think it normal for her Spirit Light to be so low…?! _

"—will you, Sam?" The Hobbit was hauled from his reverie and back to terra firma when Pippin smacked him on the back of his head using, (surprise, surprise) none other than poor Lascaran. The Squirrel gave a yell upon impacting with Sam's nape, the Hobbit jumped on his seat, and Pippin looked very pleased with his success.

"He has," Pippin began, jerking a thumb towards Frodo (Who was trying hard to hide his amusement, but failing miserably all the same), "…been asking you to relate the end of the tale of Thorin for the last ten minutes, Sam. Where were you? " He blinked. The blush that rose on Sam's cheek was lovely.

"Uh, really?" he stammered. "But, Mr. Frodo, you know it better than me… and my voice isn't as sweet, I mean, as beautiful, I mean, as good as yours… I mean, it couldn't compare… I mean…" Exasperated with himself for what seemed a calculated quest for embarrassment, Sam lapsed into silence. 

He was grateful when Frodo waved one hand at him, a smile on his lips. 

"I'll do it, Sam. No worries." He said. Then, turning toward the non-Hobbits occupants of the carriage: 

"After a long struggle Thorin and his companions killed the Dragon that occupied the Ancient Capital of the Dwarven Realm. And finally, after hundred and hundred years, thirteen Dwarves set foot again in the Halls of Stone."

"Gloin Gimli's father, Thorin his Lord, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Balin, Oin, Dori, Ori and Nori." Merry reminded, as Pippin counted the names on his fingertips.

"But, Alas!" continued Frodo. "The Capital was in ruins! The water, the very air and earth had been poisoned by the Dragon's vile breath, and no plants had survived in the shining gardens! The glittering fountains now sprout poisoned water, brown and stinking. The great monuments of marble were dark and burned, and the devices of old, left behind when the Dragon had occupied the City and driven out its rightful habitants, were useless and torn.

"Much they despaired at seeing the Ancient Capital so ruined, and shed tears of anger and sorrow in front of the Tombs of the Dwarf Lords of Old. But as they cried and pulled the hairs from their heads and beards, a being of dazzling beauty answered their calls."

"Cloaked in light, and covered in heavenly smell, she appeared to them. A silver harp was in her hand and stars upon her brow. She sang and cried for them, and as she stepped close the Dwarves all fell on their knees in awe. For beautiful she was, with her hair of gold and glittering white skin. She looked like one of those jewels their kin loved so dearly, and her eyes were topazes brightest than they could ever hope to dig from their profound mines." Here Frodo paused, turning toward Arwen with a smile. "The Lady who conquered their hearts and eased their worries was none other than Galadriel of Lòrien, Milady."

Arwen's eyes reached the size of teacups. "Grandmother?" she whispered. Frodo nodded.

"She was very young at that time, and often she would leave Lothlòrien to walk alone the holy ground of Morfëataur, whose name was still Celebtaur then, the Silver Forest.

"It came to pass that, while walking and singing tales of old in those woods, she heard the Dwarves' desperate cries, and couldn't find in her heart to refuse them help. So, singing, she walked the Capital's ruined streets, with a star shining as bright as a thousand dawns on her finger. And, behold! The plants grew lush and green again, the water became limpid, and the air filled with the smell of flowers. The Capital became dazzling with light and green again. And the grateful Dwarves pledged their lives to the Lady of Lothlòrien.

"The Ancient Capital, you must understand, is situated right under the woods now known as Morfëataur," continued Frodo, "and it's the same underground City we Hobbits live in nowadays, and that you've seen with your very eyes."

Arwen gave a small nod, and touched her fingertips to her lips. Beside her, Boromir gaped at the Hobbit, mouth wide. The twins too seemed unable to even blink. Gandalf created a whole miniature 3D model of Galadriel and the Dwarves in the Ancient Capital with the smoke of his pipe.

"But…" said Arwen softly. "How did the Hobbits come to live in Morfëataur? Your kin, I thought, dwelled far in the East, in the lovely Shire, near the Grey Havens, concealed from Sauron's evil eye by both Magic and the courage of the Dunedain." Her eyes were huge, and a look of confusion stole on her beautiful face. Beside her Éowyn nodded, showing her own interest, while 'lovingly' pushing into Boromir's mouth one of Sam's remaining cookies.

The Man looked as if he would explode if anything else made it to his stomach, but the firm hold Éowyn's had on his chin made it impossible for him to refuse the offered food. Eyes shut, he swallowed the cookie. Arwen cast him a quick glance and then focused back on the Hobbits, smiling slightly.

Éowyn frowned.

What was wrong with the Elven-girl anyway? By this time she should have pried them apart screeching like a Nazgûl! Oh, well. She shrugged. It was no fun this way, not fun *at all*, but she supposed that, as long as she got to stay close to Boromir, it didn't matter… though it annoyed her to have her fun ruined so blatantly. Shrugging, she turned back to Frodo, thoughtlessly forcing another cookie into Boromir's mouth.

"That they do. But the Hobbits that live in Morfëataur have never seen the Shire, nor heard of it, if not in tales or ballads." When he answered, Frodo's eyes were bright and a little sad, and Arwen couldn't help but beg his forgiveness. He conceded it gladly with a smile bright and huge, one smile so pure, mature beyond his years and yet so innocent that made his whole face shine.

"You see," Frodo continued. "Some centuries ago, a group of brave Hobbits left the Shire to join those that fought Sauron. Unsure about where to go, they went towards Rivendell, seeking the council of Lord Elrond. What they found instead was toil and pain by the hands of Orcs: Sauron's creatures captured the Hobbits just outside Imladris, unknown to the Elves of Rivendell, and would have taken them to Mordor, hadn't the Elves of Lothlòrien fought to free them.

"For weeks the fair Elves of Lothlòrien fought with the Orcs, and the brave thirteen Dwarf Lords were alongside them. In the end, Elves and Dwarves won the battle, and all Orcs were gone. But the victory was bitter indeed: Thorin had given his life to save the Hobbits, and the blood that had been spilled on the Holy ground of Celebtaur had tainted its trees forevermore. They became dark and towering, filled with battling rage, and when questioned, the trees told the Elves that the woods would be called Morfëataur from then on, till either the destruction of Sauron or the end of Time.

"Thorin died, but he was so glad to see the Hobbits free and so worried about their welfare, that he offered them to stay in the Dwarves' Underground City. His last words on his deathbed were his offer to open the City's gates to them and their descendants. Moved, the Hobbits agreed. The remaining Dwarf Lords vowed solemnly to always protect those Hobbits, and with the blessing of the Lady Galadriel they took them to the Underground City.

"Time passed, and one by one the Dwarf Lords died of age or illness, until Gimli son of Gloin inherited from them the mission to protect the City and the Hobbits. Since he became the ruler of the City, often we offered him to come back to his kin, for how could he be happy among us, only Dwarf in a city of Hobbits? But whenever we ask, he just gazes at us sadly and shakes his head."

Minutes of silence passed, and then Pippin shifted in his seat, pushing away the plate of cookies. "It's so… sad." He said. None could find the wit to disagree.

Anyway, seeing how this story can't be serious for more than a few paragraphs, the mood was ruined when the compartment door burst open. Strider staggered in, almost in a daze, and following a process known as Murphy's law, slumped into the only empty seat of the compartment that was not, well, *empty*. Let's just hope that poor Lascaran finds a way out from under Strider's backside, or that the little one surprises us again, materializing something along the lines of a reserve of oxygen complete with plastic mask and everything.

Few of those in the compartment, though, gave much of a thought to the poor Squirrel, busy as they were taking in Strider's funny, blissful look. Dishevelled and flushed (like every time he spent time with Legolas) he was murmuring something constantly under his breath, and his eyes were suspiciously scattered with stars. Trading curious glances, the others resolved in leaning close to his mouth. When they heard him murmur "Legolas…" dreamily though, Elves, Squirrels, Hobbits, Men and Wizards alike leaped as one at Éowyn, who was, in turn, about to pounce the unsuspecting Ranger (unsuspecting because he had absolutely no idea of where he was whatsoever, lost as he was in his Legolas daydream). When he regained his wits enough, Aragorn pointed the door and mutter a little louder:

"Wants to see Éowyn. Needs talking. Now."

Immediately, Éowyn was on her feet, looking about her to see where she could put the tray of cookies and the Man she was clutching. The aforementioned Murphy's Law, also called Blind Lady Luck's Twisted Sense of Humour, or more commonly known as The Author's Wickedness, kicked into action. Éowyn spun round, shoved the plate into the closest person's hands, and then shoved Boromir in their lap, before hurrying outside the door, leaving a trail of dust behind.

All in less than 5 seconds.

Now, if we happen to look closer to the 'closet person' in whose hands and lap Éowyn had pushed Boromir and the cookies, we would see a bewildered and blushing Arwen with her hands clutching at the plate, and her face –and lips- few inches from Boromir's own.

"Uh…"

"Ahh…" the said at the same time.

"I…"

"I…" Perfect synchronism again.

"A… cookie…?" she whispered after a long pause in which nothing sounded, if not Pippin's soft giggling and his small cry when Merry elbowed his cousin into silence.

"Uh… thanks…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Can I…?"

"…yes?"

"…have another…?"

"Uh… yes… should I…"

"hm?"

"Fed you… uh… again?"

"Please?"

Elladan and Elrohir turned expectant eyes towards Gandalf, seeing in their sister and her Knight the perfect opportunity to win back the Gold Gandalf had won.

"Say, old friend…" began Elladan, putting an arm round Gandalf's shoulders.

"What about… a bet?" Elrohir ended, batting his eyelashes, and trying to sound tempting.

The smirk that Gandalf flashed them made them wonder if the Wizard knew something they didn't – but by all means, should.

"What a wonderful idea, dear friends…"

* * * * *

Éowyn burst into Legolas's compartment like a fury. That one compartment was, in truth, not in the same carriage as hers, but in the one that had been reserved for the Hobbits. Right before their departure from Morfëataur Aragorn had not-so-gently ordered Frodo & Co. to go and relate tales to his companions in the other carriage, so that he could stay alone with his *ehm* with Legolas during the journey and cuddl--*ehm* discuss important matters with him.

Snickering, the Hobbits had complied, and until now none, not even Éowyn, had dared enter the carriage and interrupt their idyll. In truth, she was suddenly sorry that she'd let Legolas alone with Aragorn. Back when they had first entered the Terraship, Legolas had taken her hand and asked her if she could let him travel in the Hobbit's carriage alone with Aragon, adding some comment about how easy it would be for her to go from her compartment to theirs if ever need be. Éowyn smiled remembering the blush that had come to his face with her next words.

"You know I'd come to your aid even if you were held prisoner in Mordor… if you called, I wouldn't mind tramping over the carriage's roof and crash into a window to help you… it's just, I'm not sure either of us would like it if I walked in on you and the Ranger after hearing you scream his name at top of your lungs." Éowyn had been joking, but Legolas had blushed beetroot red at the innuendo in her voice all the same. She'd smirked at him, yet he could tell that she was arguing with herself, her desire to protect him at odds with his choice to experience those last few days of freedom he had.

At last, she'd relented.

"Just this once, Legolas. And I *will* come if I hear you scream, whether if you want me to come or not." Legolas had hugged her, still pink to the tips of his ears.

"Fair enough."

Now she regretted it.

Oh, how she regretted it.

When he'd entered their compartment, that cursed Ranger seemed far *too* content, if you asked her. And if that satisfaction of his involved even remotely Legolas, or touching Legolas's body… well, he was dead.

She entered Legolas's compartment in a rush, so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she nearly knocked him over when she jumped suddenly in. Hearing the door to his compartment door open with a loud crash, Legolas looked away from the window and to the door, and then to Éowyn who, flailing her hands wildly in order not to crash down on him, stumbled backwards unceremoniously in the seat opposite Legolas's, drowning in the fluffy cloud of her white gown.

He *tried* not to giggle.

Really.

Tried being the keyword there.

Blinking, Éowyn made herself comfortable, clearing her throat and trying hard not to blush.

"So… what did you want to tell me?" Legolas's smile instantly faded. He turned around to look outside the window, squinting to see something in the oppressing dark. The lines of grief were etched deeply in his fair face, and Éowyn felt her heart constrict. What could have caused that fair creature, Star among his people, such sorrow? Sorrow that could, she remembered with a shudder, easily kill him.

"You grieve." She said softly, touching the back of his hand sympathetically. She watched him nod, while trying to catch his eyes in the pale reflection of the window. "Why, my friend? What burdens you so? So bright a soul as yours was never meant to feel such pain. Will you not share yours thought with me, as you did once?"

"Oh, Éowyn…" he sighed. She leaned closer, taking his hand in both of hers.

"Who caused you this Grief, my friend?" Legolas closed his overly-bright eyes.

"…Aragorn." One moment, and he had to leap up and wind his arms around Éowyn's waist to hold her back from dashing in the other carriage and run Aragorn through with her sword.

She kicked and wriggled in the Prince's hold, screeching profanities, angry enough to have trails of smoke rising from her ears.

"That bastard! What has he done to you?! I *said* he was *too* content! If he laid one single finger upon you, I *swear*--!!!!!"

"Eowy, *please*!" Legolas begged. "Why do you always have to be so biased against him?! He hasn't done anything! Eowy! *Please*!" He tugged almost roughly at her waist, staring at the floor in horror when she, despite all his efforts, began to advance sloooooooooooooowly towards the door, dragging him along as she went.

"Eowy!"

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"

"Eowy, please! He has done nothing!"

"Kill him! Kill him!"

"Nothing! Nothing at all, Eowy!" And then, screaming: "NOT YET!"

"Ki—uh?!"

Éowyn stopped, turned, glared, and, grabbing two fistfuls of his tunic, pulled Legolas up and back into his seat, before sitting in front of him and glaring harder, their noses almost touching.

"Explain."

"Uh… wellllllllllll…"

* * * * *

The dreadful, piercing scream reverberated through the air.

Pippin started on his seat, jumping in the hair and landing straight onto Merry's lap.

"What was that?! A Nazgûl?! A Nazgûl has made it into the Terraship?!" Merry momentarily threw away his ever-present book, and held onto his cousin, looking around wildly.

"Valar! Elbereth!"

Sam bravely threw himself at Frodo, shielding him with his body from any danger. He must have miscalculated his sprint though; because not only the two landed in a tangled heap on the floor, but accidentally dragged with them the other two unsuspecting Hobbits and the even more unsuspecting two Elves. Gandalf managed not to be dragged down as well by placing his feet on the seat and his arms over his head. Aragorn managed the same by… well, by being simply the way he was: so lost in Legolas-filled dreams, he couldn't have been awoken and moved from his seat even if Sauron himself came into the compartment and asked him the quickest way to Rivendell.

In the following commotion Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Elladan and Elrohir managed to knock over the last plate of cookies and send their cups of tea soaring through the air. Probably there's some concealed, extremely philosophical meaning in all of this but, like Lost Rings of Power always are attracted to the most unlikely creatures imaginable, so the cookies and the tea rained all over the only person in the compartment that had just re-styled his previously burnt hair and was dressed with his most precious, valuable and simply EXTREMELY EXPENSIVE garb of Lòrien Silk his Grandmother had gifted him.

Luckily for all, Merry's book decided it would be good to land on Elrohir's head as well, silencing him before he could make real the yelled threats that were surging from deep within his chest.

But that's just minor details.

No small amount of cursing, cries, yells, death threats and wails after, the Elves and the Hobbits managed to sit back in their chair with a resemblance of dignity. Aragorn sighed, blissfully unaware of anything that wasn't his Legolas daydream. Putting his feet back on the floor Gandalf raised a thick eyebrow at the Man, barely restraining himself from puffing out from his pipe a sensually swaying Legolas-miniature, and send it his way.

"If you asked me," the wizard told Pippin, "I'd say it sounded suspiciously like Éow--."

He didn't get to end his thought, that the compartment's door burst open again, and a panicked Legolas appeared in the doorframe. Upon seeing him Aragorn snapped out of his trance, cried his beloved's name out happily and, lips puckered and eyes closed, leaned forward for a kiss.

Legolas rushed past his seat and knelt in front of Gandalf, eyes wild.

"Please, tell me we've smelling salts with us!"

"I reckon…"

"We have them?!"

"Well yes, but…"

"Where?!"

"Strider's bag, but--"

Legolas turned, fumbled with the bag hanging from Strider's side (the Man was, by the way, still leaning forward expectantly in his seat, eyes closed, waiting for his kiss.). He found what he was searching for and disappeared again, as if he was nothing more than a breath of spring breeze.

Only long after the Elf had left did Aragorn peer on eye open and mutter, "Legolas?" then, shoulders slumped, he shrank back with a pout.

"My *kiss*!" he mumbled. The looks he received as he sulked were priceless, and absolutely indescribable.

* * * * *

Éowyn came to consciousness slowly. Not unlike a drowning person drifting ashore. She squinted up, seeing a shining figure above her patting her face worriedly.

_Ooooooooh… I didn't know Valar had pointy ears. The-eh. This Vala's beautiful. Must be one important Vala. Ihihih… looks like Legsy… … … … … … Legsy? … … … … no, wait… … … … … … …hold everything! _

"LEGSY?!" She shot up to a seated position, almost headbutting her Prince on the nose.

"Ohy, Eowy! My ears! They're sensitive!"

"And you're mad! Completely mad! Does the Man already know of your plan?!" Legolas's ears turned pink.

"No…"

"By the VALAR, Legolas, what do you *think* you're *doing*?!" The Elf lowered his eyes.

"Spending time with the one I love. And asking you not to come between us."

"Legolas, you *can't* be in *love*. Not you! Not now! Not with *Strider*, damn it!" Now why did that outburst sound strangely familiar, Legolas mused. "You're to be married in a few days…" Éowyn reminded softly. Legolas nodded.

"I know. And I *will* marry. Too much is at stake to call off the wedding. The safety of the whole Middle Earth may depend on it. I just… I just want to spend with Aragorn whatever time we'll have in Lòrien." His blush turned deeper. Éowyn rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, and have some *real* fun with him in the meantime." Legolas glared at her through his lashes. Leave it to Éowyn to kill the poetry in his intentions.

"Eowy," he began, an edge of sorrow honing his melodic voice. "I *love* Aragorn, and you know as well as me that once an Elf gives his heart, it is forever. I'll love Aragorn till the end of time, but I will have to marry someone I don't even know, and stay bound to him, until death parts us. And even if Aragorn was still alive and in love with me by that time, I'd have to stay faithful to the Memory of my Husband and rule Gondor in his wake, only to wither away and die the moment death claimed my Aragorn." He sighed, smiling when Éowyn cupped his shoulder affectionately. Slowly he raised his eyes, and let her see all the sorrow and hope and worry and joy he held inside. "I've been given this one chance to stay with my love. I won't let it slip. I want to be his completely… I want Aragorn to make me completely his, to mark me, before we part ways forevermore. I want him to make love to me, once we're in Lòrien."

**TBC **

**Err… yeah, right. I wonder if Legolas will succeed with his plan to seduce Aragorn, and if Éowyn will indeed decide not to ruin it. **

**As always I'm eager to know your opinion. =)**


	16. Chapter 16

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 16 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, there are hints of Arw/B and E/B romance, starring a completely oblivious Boromir and cat-fighting Arwen and Éowyn… LOL. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note:_**_ Quote: "The branches of the mallorn-tree grew out nearly straight from the trunk and then swept upward; but near the top the main stem divided into a crown of many boughs, and among these they found that there had been built a wooden platform, or _flet_ as such things were called in those days: the Elves called it _talan_. It was reached by a round hole in the centre through wich the ladder passed." Lord of the Rings – the Fellowship of the Ring – Lothlórien (pag 167 on my copy) _

**_Note 2: _**_By the Valar, I received more than 200 reviews… I think I can die a happy author now… MORE THAN 200 REVIEWS! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!  
**Rating:** R_  
  


* * * * *

Reaching Lothlórien turned out easier than the Fellowship had thought – few hours of comfortable journey onto the Terraship instead than days marching was a gift of the Valar, indeed.

Survive Galadriel's welcome party, didn't.

To show them how welcome they were in her Realm, (or to make them pay for making her wait so long, none was entirely sure) the Lady of Lórien made sure the party went on for days, and that none of the company *ever* left it. All of her efforts resulted in the poor Fellowship members catching close to no sleep at all for one whole week.

Ignoring the week of merrymaking, and the one other week it took the "Fellowship-of-the-Star-with-the-momentary-addition-of-Four-Hobbits-and-one-Squirrel" (as Galadriel loved to call it, after she'd heard Gandalf refer to them thus) to recover, let's jump straight to when things began to get back to their normal routine – i.e. when madness began anew.

By now everyone in Lórien knew that something was going on between the _Aurêl _of Mirkwood and the_ Elfstone _of Gondor, even though neither of them was aware of the other's identity. Just as they knew that Éowyn, the woman who pretended to be the _Aurêl _to protect Legolas a little from the Orcs' unwanted attention_,_ did not approve of it ('approve' to put it lightly. 'Had a fit each time she saw them stand even remotely close' may help you get a better picture).

However, blessed their attitude to never intrude, it didn't even cross the Lórien Elves' minds to inform either the _Aurêl_ or the _Elfstone_ of what they knew. We may be inclined to say they found the situation just too *amusing* to risk disrupting their fun by saying something. But in fact, if you pick one Elf of Lórien of your choice and ask him or her, they'll surely tell you:

"Why now, we have no right to invade their privacy. It would be unbecoming of creatures as wise as we are to play spies."

Even if, we must admit, if you asked them if playing matchmaker was unbecoming as well, the answer you'd get would hover between,

"Why should it?"

and

"Don't think so – I actually love doing it."

Their attitude provided Legolas with many and many occasions to try and put his seduction plan into action, but it was difficult to seduce someone when your personal guard follows your every movement. In the end all his strategies, from number one ("The night's grown so cold, Aragorn… hold me?") to the latest number 2345 ("Tie a bright pink ribbon around my chest and lie naked on his bed until he notices me"), failed miserably.

To the records, Éowyn *had* agreed to let Legolas have his night of love with Aragorn. Just, whenever she sensed they were close enough for Legolas's plan to work, her instinct to protect Legolas kicked into action and possessed her in either disrupt her Prince's plan ("Cold? Here, take my cloak Legsy" or "Bright pink? What a terrible choice… it doesn't suits you, that colour. Either way, we're out or ribbons, sorry *tossing a handful of colourful ribbons in the fire*"), or chase Aragorn around the whole Golden Woods.

The elves of Lórien usually enjoyed watching the fun picture they made as they ran amidst the woods: a panicked Aragorn would lead, followed closely by a screeching Éowyn who was, in turn, followed just as closely by a flushed Legolas. But, amusing as it was, the Lórien Elves soon grew bored of their antics. At least, until Éowyn managed to drag the newly met Haldir, Elladan, Boromir and Arwen, into the mess, all in one evening that will remain forever embed in Lothlórien's history……………………………...

*music fades in* The show is kindly presented to you by, "Bad Timing Magazine: the Complete Guide of the Things to Never Do or Say in Any Case Unless You Wish for Hell to Break Loose" the most famous magazine of the while Middle Earth! Providing you with knowledge of what you should never say or do, this miraculous magazine from Saruman the White can literally save your life! Buy it now: you can now take out a subscription for just 20 pieces of gold!! *music fades out*

"Tell me again when exactly I agreed to do this." Éowyn rolled her eyes.

"El, please."

"Elladan."

"Yeah, whatever." She waved her hand at him, not looking up from the mixture she was stirring. There was a remarkable amount of flour scattered across the Kitchen's counter, as well as broken eggs, remains of butter, milk, sugar and various inedible things that shouldn't really be anywhere around Éowyn when she cooked.

"I told you already." She continued. "I need something to keep my mind occupied, otherwise I'll keep ruining Legsy's plans—err… evenings. Yeah, evenings." Elladan swallowed soundly when Éowyn reached blindly for the soap powder and tried to add it in the bowl. Quicker than lighting he was on his feet beside her, and Éowyn was blinking wonderingly at her now empty hand. Elladan silently handed her the sugar.

"So you decided to try and master the recipe of Sam's cookies." She nodded. "This still does not explain when I agreed to be your guinea pig." He observed, reclining back against the kitchen table, quickly grabbing her hand when she tried to add a polishing gel to the mixture instead than honey. She pouted at him, trying to wrench the jar out of his hands, bouncing on her toes when he held it far above his head. "Tis not honey, Milady." She puffed out her cheeks, trying to look scary. The Elf countered with a stern look, and by handing her the right jar. She quickly rotated it, intending to add one stomach-churning quantity of honey in the bowl, baring her teeth at Elladan when he swooped, snatching the bowl away from her the exact moment the right amount of honey made it into the mixture. Éowyn pouted until he placed the bowl back in front of her.

"I have no one else to ask to!"

"Why not the Hobbits? They love to eat. Anything. Edible or not." Elladan suggested with a raised eyebrow.

"They came here to report to the Lady how things are going in Morfëataur. I can't really bother them."

"What about Gandalf, then?"

"Gone smoking his pipe. I really don't know where, though."

"Elrohir?"

"Gone with Gandalf. Or so he said. I thought Elves hated smoking."

"Legolas?"

"Ehy! I'd never risk his health with my cooking!" Blink. "I mean…" Elladan sighed.

"Jeez, I'm moved by your concern for me. Strider?"

"I'd be too temped to put some sleeping potion in the cookies."

"Arwen?" Éowyn just glared pointedly at that. Elladan raised his hands. "Okay, okay, it was stupid of me to ask. So that leaves just me, I guess."

"Exactly."

"This *still* does not explain *when* I agreed to test the edibility of your cookies." Then he blinked, starting, his folded arms sliding loose. "Why not Boromir?" Éowyn scrunched up her nose, lips pulled tight together.

"Without any competition, it's lost all its charm." She mused aloud. "Matchmaking is way funnier, especially with the right allies."

"…I beg your pardon?" She shrugged again. Then she did something that REALLY surprised Elladan.

She spoke to him with her heart in her hands.

"Please, Elladan. I really need someone to help me, now. And as you said yourself, you're the only one I can ask to. If I ruin another of Legsy's plans he'll never even look at me again. I can't lose his friendship, it's too important for me." she said, staring intently at the mixture. "The other Elves of Mirkwood always seemed rather distant with me. But Legolas… he was always sweet, and caring, and ready to help me. I owe it to him to let him love Aragorn while he still can." She shrugged, trying to hide her sad face from him. "I know you think I should ask Boromir, but I really can't. I wanted to befriend him because he's the only Human I've ever met, but I guess I was wrong to try and seduce him. I don't really want that from him. I wanted a human friend. Human… like me." Her eyes flickered up, meeting his briefly. Elladan just nodded dumbly, his jaw on the floor.

"You can… use me as your guinea pig, I guess." He said when he got his mouth under control again. He'd senses something was amiss with this Princess but… human? He leaned back against the table, expression intent. Éowyn rolled up her sleeves, grinning widely now, and went back on making the best cookies ever.

…well, the best cookies she could possibly make.

…

… …

… … …double check: the best *edible* cookies she could make.

…

… …

… … …

… … … … okay, let's face it. Elladan is doomed. -_-;;

* * * * *

The moment Galadriel knew Arwen was to dine with Boromir that night she kindly offered her Granddaughter (read: ordered her not to refuse) some help to get ready. Well, it's not exact to say that Galadriel get into action *the moment* she knew about the dinner… she'd known about it for years, having seen it in her mirror. But the moment her granddaughter had the unlucky idea of mentioning the dinner to her, one could literally hear the wheels in Galadriel's head getting into motion.

With a surprising speed she'd hauled poor Arwen to her _talan _to find an appropriate dress, and sent a servant to inform Boromir where he was supposed to meet his date –err- Elrond's daughter. Considering that Galadriel has the biggest wardrobe on Middle Earth, (and that's *_something* _if you think that the smallest wardrobe of the Elven nobility ever seen could barely fit into the Tower of Ortanch), she asked the Human Knight (read: offered him some detailed description of what would be done to him if he was just one minute late) to be there in seven hours.

The sight that presented itself to Arwen's eyes when her Grandmother opened her wardrobe robbed her of her breath. Being Galadriel a noble Lady, one would expect her wardrobe to be filled with delicate-looking gowns, jewels, veils and rich silk, right? Well, it was to her eternal astonishment that Arwen saw said wardrobe filled with nothing but leather garments, red velvet dresses, J-Rocker clothes, a few clown costumes, and even one complete Frank'nFurther outfit that, or so Galadriel claimed, was not hers but her husband's.

Then, Galadriel swirled on Arwen with glinting eyes, and the younger Elf swallowed, readying herself for the following seven hours of torture, wondering why her Grandmother insisted that she should look beautiful for this one dinner, when she and Boromir had dinned together all the evenings of their lives since he was but a boy.

* * * * * *

Elrohir watched on as Boromir checked his reflection for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes.

"So you are going out with Arwen again, Boromir?" Boromir froze.

_//I'm leaving the _talan_, so I *am* going out. Accidentally, it happens that Arwen will be getting out of her own _talan_ once I get there; will go to the same place I'm going, with me; and will spend some time there and have dinner, also with me.// _

He nodded, supposing one could say he was going out with Arwen and be positively sure he'd put it right. Elrohir tried hard to hide a smirk.

"I heard that spot where you always take her, up close the Nimrodel, is very romantic this time of the year…" the Elf trailed off, watching with a gleeful glint in his eyes as Boromir stopped dead in his tracks, grimacing slightly.

"Ro…mantic?"

"Very much so."

"Right. This isn't… a date… you know?" _or is it? _

"Of course."

"Right. Then… why did you say I'm d-dating your sister? I-I'm not d-dating your sister. Now that wouldn't be an honour. Any man would like to date her, but I'm not dating her. Not that she would date me. Would she? No, don't think so. Either way, I'm just a Knight, while she's a noble lady. And I'm mortal, while she's isn't, so we're not dating. Not that mortality could go in the way of dating--" he trailed off, acutely aware of Elrohir's blank stare fixed on him.

"Boromir?" the Elf said, quirking an eyebrow up.

"Hm?"

"You're babbling."

"Oh."

"And sweating. And if I didn't know better I'd say you are blushing."

"…"

"Well." The Elf said at last, showing pity on his human friend. He smiled reassuringly at him, after casting a quick glance at the darkening sky. "I dare say it's time for you to go! We don't want our lovely Evenstar to wait and worry, right?"

"Never." Boromir answered softly, feeling his shoulders unwind some. With a smile of his own, he began climbing down the rope-ladder.

"Have fun."

"Yes." Came the muffled reply some metres below the _talan_.

"And make sure my baby sister enjoys herself."

"I'll do my best." Boromir assured, hopping from the rope-ladder onto the ground. Elrohir's voice followed him when he went deep through the mallorn-trees.

"Take her back to her _talan_ before Midnight."

"As always." He yelled back.

"Oh, and you know that you can't cross a certain line with her, unless you're married, right?"

"Of course." Beat. "W-WHAT?!" Elrohir rolled his eyes with a smirk, waving at the shocked-looking Boromir from the _talan_.

"I said go, Boromir. Bye-bye."

* * * * *

Boromir arrived under Arwen's _talan_ feeling a distinct lump forming in his throat. It didn't help in the slightest that he found the Lady Galadriel walking 'accidentally' near the _talan_ and coming to greet him with a smile.

"Dear Boromir!" She said softly. "How long!" he curtsied humbly, trying hard not to stutter as he told her how honoured he was to see her again, and just how thankful he was that she let them into her Golden Wood.

She moved her hand before her slowly, gracefully, and told him he'd always be welcome in those woods. Boromir nodded at her words, and excusing himself he started to climb the rope-ladder, when Galadriel grabbed his arm and pulled him back with the strength of a thousand Orc-kids wrestling on the last box of chocolate pocky in a convenience store – if they *had* convenience stores and pocky in Mordor… but I digress.

After a couple of seconds staring dumbfounded at the deceptively slim hand cutting the blood-flow in his arm, Boromir dared look up at the Lady's face, finding her trademark sweet smile in place.

"She's still getting dressed, dear Boromir. You know that you really shouldn't see her before she's done." She said, nodding her head slightly.

"Right. Uhm… with all the due respect milady, me and Arwen are not getting married."

"Of course not, dear." Now why did that look like her typical, 'so you think, but I know better' smile…?!

* * * * *

Her bow bathed in sweat, Éowyn picked up the phial of red liquid Gandalf had mixed for her, and carefully rained its sweet-smelling content over those few cookies that actually had no trace of soap or salt or polishing gel or petrol in them, and that additionally were not even burned. Once she was done she watched them, smiling delightedly at the aroma they now exuded.

"Done!!!" She shouted then, clutching to her chest the trail of cookies. She could barely contain herself from bouncing around the kitchen.

Elladan watched her from his seat, elbows on the table and chin on his cupped hands. His face was a slight shade of grey after having to try out all of her the previous, inedible attempts, burned and not; but all in all he looked like he'd be back to health very soon. At one point during Éowyn's bouncing he opened his mouth to say something, but he was silenced rather abruptly when she caught his arm and hauled him outside at warp-speed. "Let's go find Boromir!!!! I can't wait to have him taste them!"

"BOROMIR?!" Elladan spluttered. "I thought you said you were OVER him! That you know he and ARWEN are in LOVE (even if they're too stupid to realize it, I quote). That you wouldn't try to make a move on him EVER AGAIN! That you were trying to MATCH them UP!"

"Oh, come on, El."

"Elladan."

"Sure, sure. No need to worry: you know you'll always be my favourite guinea pig. And I *am* matching them up. Only, I need him to eat these if I want my plan to work, El."

"It's Elladan. And I've a *really* bad feeling about all this."

"You're so silly, El!"

"ELLADAN!"

* * * * *

"Haldir, *please*."

"No."

"Please?"

"I said no."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease????????"

"NO."

Legolas pouted. "Oh… why can't you let me…?"

"The _Aurêl _asked me not to." The Lórien Elf shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. Legolas looked ready to kill.

"You know perfectly well that *I* AM THE _AURÊL_!" He screamed, clamping both hands against his mouth one moment after, glaring at Haldir as he eyed the Prince with a raised eyebrow. Legolas quickly looked about, as though expecting Aragorn to have heard his outburst. Once he'd decided no one was around he moved his hands away, glaring at Haldir through his lashes. "What has Éowyn got to do with this? She told me she would let me--" _I'm not blushing. I'm not blushing. I'm not blushing. My cheeks burn and tingle all over and Haldir his smirking at me knowingly, but I'm *not* blushing. "--s_pend this evening with Aragorn, given that we're leaving so soon. She knows as well as the two of us that tonight is a very special night… how could Éowyn of all people ask you to hinder me so?"

"Legolas, Legolas, Legolas…" Haldir tutted, shaking one finger in front of the Prince's nose. "Tonight isn't just 'special', my Prince. 'Tis the night of Nimrodel! The night in which all lovers are blessed, especially those that drench themselves in the water of the stream named Nimrodel! 'Tis the only night of the year in which the magic of love touches every creature's heart! And not only that! 5000 years have passed since the death of Nimrodel, the beautiful Elf Maiden that gives the name to out beloved stream, and never again there will be a night as magical as *this*! Love will prevail over everything tonight! It will know no boundaries or limits anymore! Elbereth herself will give her blessing to the lovers that will touch the water of Nimrodel, tonight!!!" Haldir said, his voice hitting a squawking, excited note on the last words. Legolas was watching him with flat eyes.

"Right." Pause. "That's exactly *WHY* I asked you to let me dine along the riverbank with Aragorn, damn it! So that we can touch the water and be blessed!" Haldir looked at him sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, my Prince, I really am. But my Lady Galadriel has ordered to see that another couple dines here and is touched by the water of Nimrodel, tonight."

"And what *exactly* has Éowyn to do with all of this?" Haldir shrugged.

"I didn't really understand, but she cried out something about blind enamoured idiots, 'it' being no fun without competition, and even added something about playing matchmaker. Not to mention *what* exactly she and the Golden Lady threatened to do to my backside if I let anyone disturb Arwen and Boromir tonight." He shuddered at the memory of how Éowyn and Galadriel had spent the last days planning to match Arwen and Boromir up, sounding not unlike two extremely excited, silly teenagers.

"Arwen and Boromir."

"Yes."

"Tonight."

"Yes."

"And Éowyn wants to match them up. *Éowyn*. *Them*."

"Yes… she's even making some cookies to gift them. I heard she wanted to shape them as hearts and fill them with a love potion or something."

"*Love potion*"

"To put it nicely."

"*Nicely*"

"In truth I suspect it's an aphrod--" Legolas's hand promptly shut him up.

"No need to get into details." He stood a moment, then sighed softly. "Do you think I could at least take some water with me, so that Aragorn and I can be blessed all the same?"

"Why not." Haldir shrugged. "Come, follow me. We don't have much time before Arwen and Boromir arrive." He ran away, laughingly daring the Prince to get him. With a laugh of his own, Legolas began to chase after one of the few persons he really considered friends.

* * * * *

Aragorn must own the whole collection of the "Bad Timing Magazine: the Complete Guide of the Things to Never Do or Say in Any Case Unless You Wish for Hell to Break Loose" since issue number 0, because that night he did the only thing that could -quoting part of the Magazine's title- cause Hell to Break Loose.

Since he could not sleep, troubled as he was by his upcoming marriage, he decided to go and take a walk on the riverside, hoping that hearing the water of Nimrodel rush by would relax him.

Go figure; the moment he reached the river:

a) Éowyn came crashing in as well, with Elladan nearly knocking her over and into the water when she stopped dead in her tracks;

b) Boromir and Arwen (thankfully dressed in a normal silky gown) strolled down a bridge and to the shore, and coming to a stop few inches from the water's reach, stared owlishly at the others.

c) Last and worst of all, Legolas appeared as well, laughing merrily at a still flushed Haldir when the Lórien Elf swooped and caught him in his arms.

Time froze.

Literally.

Aragorn would not think what was *his* Elf doing in another's arms.

Then something clicked deep in his mind.

_*His* _Elf into _*another*_'s arms.

Hell_broke_loose.

"LEGOLAS! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED *ME*!"

"ARAGORN, I CAN EXPLAIN!"

"HALDIR, I KILL YOU!!!!!"

"MILADY _AURÊL, _I BEG YOU,HAVE MERCY! MILADY ARWEN, HELP!"

"GET LOST, HALDIR!"

"DON'T MIND HIM, BOROMIR! HERE, EAT THESE!"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, POISON HIM?!"

"ARGH! MY PRECIOUS COOKIES! EL, LET ME AT HER! LET ME AT HER!!"

"CALM DOWN!"

"MY LOVE, WHAT DOES HALDIR HAVE THAT I DON'T? IT'S BECAUSE HE'S IMMORTAL?"

"ARAGORN, *PLEASE*!!"

"NO! NOT IN THE WATER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

*Splaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaash*

From their hiding spot in the bushes, Elrohir and Gandalf both raised an eyebrow at the seven who were splashing/drowning/trying to kill one another in the Nimrodel's water (pick your choice), and then turned as one to look pointedly at Galadriel.

"I thought you said everything would go smoothly." Gandalf muttered. The Lady of the Woods looked flustered.

"Is it my fault, if there were interferences in the mirror?"

**TBC **

**Well, I admit it's scary: this chapter has written itself. The cookies, the dinner, the water, the blessing…I had no idea of what I was writing, I just typed and typed until this came out.**

**Next time: Legolas thinks he should give up to try and seduce Aragorn… especially since the Man is angry because of Haldir… Then again, they *have* touched Nimrodel's water… does it mean that Elbereth has blessed their love? Does it mean that they'll finally get their long-awaited love scene…? **

**Hoping it won't take me long to post the next chapter, (but I wouldn't bet on it) I leave you to… review! ^_^**


	17. Chapter 17 beware of angsty and mushy s...

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 17 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Yup, that's a warning. Also, the fic sports hints of Arw/B romance. In this chapter, beware of angst and –to put it nicely- two males sharing the same bed – well, floor._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_This chapter isless fun that the others – more serious, more angsty. But, finally, here it comes the one scene all of you A/L fans have been waiting for…………………………………………………… _

**_Rating:_**_ R_ – _and I mean it.  
  
_

* * * * *

We'll never know the nature of the potion Éowyn put on her cookies, but after they fell accidentally into the Nimrodel and were carried by the flow of waters deeper into the woods, a multitude of flowers sprouted along the riverbanks and colourful birds –most of them believed extinct- began singing songs of love.

And I mean it.

The most hit were _My Heart Will Go On _and _Iris, _along with _Saved The Best for Last _and _Always. _

Legends say that one thirsty Squirrel, after having a taste of the love-potion tainted water, went to one beautiful Elven Maiden and sang his love to her till morn, putting up one incredible show in which he sang, danced, made the acrobat, the equilibrist, the clown and even proved his valour taming some wild ants.

If questioned, Lascarn still denies it was him.

Anyway, no such pretty side-effect was seen on the site where Éowyn & Co. still splashed. It was only long after the cookies were lost that they all finally seemed to come back to their senses. The strident din of their yells stopped abruptly as it finally sunk that they were all fighting in the Elves' World Day of Love, drenched from head to toe in a water that was supposed to be holy and pacifying.

To be blunt about it, they'd screwed up big time.

In the moments of stillness that followed, Éowyn looked longingly down the river, and allowed one single tear to fall for her precious cookies. She reached behind her blindly, clinging to Elladan's hand almost thoughtlessly. She was not that surprised when he gave a frustrated sigh and knelt right next to her, letting her wail about her precious cookies (and make his chest purple with bruises as she punched at it between sobs).

Yet, she was positively dumbfounded when she felt someone else place a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was a touch warm and soothing, that immediately made her feel slightly better.

"I'm so sorry…" The person whispered. Sniffling, Éowyn looked up from Elladan's chest, and had the shock of her life when she saw Arwen staring intently at her, a sad and repentant expression on her face. For a moment, Éowyn was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"Milady?"

"You put so much love and effort in those cookies, and now they're lost – because of me! I'm sorry…" Éowyn rubbed harshly at her own eyes with the back of her hand.

"It wasn't really your fault."

"I'm the one that--!"

"No, no!" Éowyn shook her head. "You *did* push the tray of cookies away from Boromir (something completely understandable since it's *my* cooking we're talking about, but that's not the point), but really, it was Haldir who made me trip and that –when I handed him the tray- threw it in the stream because scared of me." she shot the retreating Haldir a glare that made him swallow convulsedly and stop. Was it just him, or the temperature had just raised of quite a few degrees…?

"You're kind," continued Arwen, biting her bottom lip. "But if I hadn't reacted that way--"

"It's not your fault!!!!!!!!!" Éowyn puffed out her cheeks, trying to look annoyed, but feeling strangely warm inside as Arwen reached up to comb her wet, dishevelled hair with gentle fingers.

There was another thing Éowyn'd missed in Mirkwood, other than a human friend: a _female_ friend.

Because of her skill in combat and her fierce character, only male elves had ever dared befriend her – even if most of them were either driven by the curiosity for someone of a different race, or just planned to use her to get close to the Prince. She had Legolas, sure, but never had she had a friend of her own gender.

And now, here it was a beautiful elven Maiden almost in tears for some cookies.

_Maybe_, Éowyn mused, _I've got myself a friend. A real one_._ One with which I can talk about boys and gowns and jewels as well as of arrows and swords and ambushes._

The notion sounded strangely good to her ears.

Arwen smiled when Éowyn did too, and carefully helped the other woman to her feet, drying the tears on her cheeks and tenderly wiping Éowyn's nose with her handkerchief.

"Better?" she said softly. When Éowyn nodded Arwen began to lead her away with the promise of a cup of tea and some dry clothes.

The moment Éowyn made Arwen change the cup of tea with one of Sam's hot chocolate, and had her add to the package not only some home-made cakes but the promise they would spend the night long chatting, it became an offer she couldn't deny, and the woman happily strolled after the Elven Lady towards her _talan. _

Unknown to herself, Éowyn was still holding fast onto Elladan. Deaf to his protests she dragged him along, something she noticed only when in front of the _talan. _Under Arwen's amused stare Elladan cleared his throat, making the woman snuggled against him look up and notice him a last. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, silently asking to let go. Éowyn sniffled and –lo and behold!- swatted the Elf on the back of his head with a cry of, "Silly, El! You can't follow me in my bedchamber!" followed by some nervous giggling and blushing as a barely conscious Elladan tried to make out where was the Olyphant that had sent him sprawled on the ground.

* * * *

Still knee-deep in the Nimrodel, Boromir gave a wistful sigh. Arwen had shot him an apologetic glance when she'd seen Éowyn cry, and had whispered him a soft and lingering "Sorry for our dinner," before hurrying to console the other woman.

_My sweet Arwen._ Thought him. _Always ready to help. _He smiled slightly, despite himself, remembering how Arwen's eyes had kept searching his own while she led Éowyn away. She was sorry for their dinner, he could tell, but there was something else. Almost…

He knew she could not bear to see anyone in pain, and that despite their difference, Arwen was in deep awe of Éowyn. But did their blossoming friendship – a friendship Arwen had confessed him to treasure deeply- justify the degree of sorrow he'd seen in Arwen's eyes?

It looked like she knew something they didn't, and that this knowledge pained her. Almost as if she thought that was the last time they would all be together like this, and regretted the argument that had occurred. Almost as if she was unable to tell them –him- something, and _that_ unspoken truth was what he'd seen shining in her eyes, paining her.

He could not quite put his fingers on what could trouble the Lady thus, and so thought it better to focus onto those who had remained there with him – a hurt and vaguely angered Aragorn, a still petrified Haldir, and a flushed, ever-lovely and sorry-looking Legolas.

For a long moment none moved. Then, the Prince of Mirkwood recovered wits enough to talk.

"Aragorn…" he said softly, raising a tentative hand towards the Man. Both he and Boromir were made speechless when Aragorn snapped at him.

"What?" he very much growled, trying not to think about how handsome Legolas had become –blue eyes huge and scared, cheeks pale and lips parted, as though begging to be kissed- under his icy glare.

"I… are you angry, _Melam--*_?"

"DON'T!" The Man snapped again, clenching his fists. "Don't call me that." And then he added, so soft it was almost inaudible: "Please." Legolas nodded, his head swirling, and found himself unable to even look at the Man anymore, least of all speak to him.

One eternity later Boromir took one step forward, gaining an icy glare from his Prince.

"There's no need to react thus." He pointed slowly, yet with what hoped was a friendly voice – not that he was feeling very friendly at all, seeing Legolas hurt so much.

Aragorn merely sneered at him. "I'd like to see your reaction if it was *Arwen* in Haldir's arms."

For a moment Boromir looked utterly and completely confused. He dwelled on the deepest meaning of that statement for one long nanosecond, and then his brain decided he'd better not start thinking of Arwen or else he'd never be concentrated enough to help Legolas.

"I'd ask her what was she doing there." He blurted out very quickly.

"Other than enjoying herself?" Aragorn mumbled, but shot Legolas a glance, anyway. The Elf's eyes were suspiciously bright, and his cheeks suddenly blossomed with a lovely shade of red.

"Tonight… it's the night of Nimrodel." Began Legolas, getting a brisk nod from Aragorn and a reassuring smile from Boromir. Haldir was still lost sending prayers to all the Valar he could think of in his panicked state, asking to be saved from Éowyn's wrath.

"If two lovers touch the stream in this magical night, then Elbereth herself will bless their union." Aragorn's angered frown began to give way to one softer look, slightly confused but hopeful. Legolas felt hope filling him anew. "For two lovers, to be blessed by Elbereth means more than the blessing they can get in a wedding ceremony… even if they're separated in this world, there always will be an unbreakable bond between them. A sacred bond that makes them one. In this life… and in whatever awaits them beyond it."

Aragorn shook his head, confusion wafting by his eyes.

"And why were you…?"

Legolas blushed a bight red, and began worrying the point of his ear nervously. Aragorn had to swallow the sudden urge to let his mouth trace the same path those lips did – up and down Legolas's leaf-shaped ear, brushing the pale jaw, barely brushing the golden silk of his hair.

"I wished for… something special to happen tonight. And… I wanted the water to bless it, too… But orders had been given to keep this glade free for another couple, thus quenching any hope I had to immerse myself in the stream." He risked a glance up at a confused Boromir, but refrained from saying more. Aragorn nodded again, pensive. While he realized immediately it was Boromir and Arwen they were talking about, the Gondorian Knight wondered how come he hadn't noticed before how awfully cute Éowyn and Elladan were together. Up to that moment, he genuinely though that none stood between the two if not a blossoming friendship. But if *Galadriel* herself was interested in them, and had decided to play matchmaker, surely there was something more at stake… much more.

At last the Knight shrugged it off, making a mental note to ask Arwen help to find a wedding present for Éowyn and Elladan, all the while kicking himself for being so blind when it came to feelings and such – if he had noticed before that there was something between the fake _Aurêl _and one of the young Lords of Rivendell, he would have love to help them! Just because he wasn't an Elf, that didn't he mean he didn't enjoy playing matchmaker!

*most relaxing piece of classic music fades in* *annoying metallic voice comes* Author's Official Announcement: if anyone in the audience is feeling the sudden urge to hurt Boromir for being *so* blind, the author is glad to point you to her own collection of mallets. Just remember that the Knight may be needed again before the end of the fic, so please refrain from using on him the 1000 tons Mallet. Thanks. *most relaxing piece of classic music fades out*

"I decided to just take some water away with me for… later use." Legolas continued. "So me and Haldir hurried to--"

"HALDIR?!" Legolas started at the telltale tremble in Aragorn's voice. "It was *Haldir* the one you wanted to spend a special night with?! It's your love for *him* you want Elbereth to bless?!"

"No! N-no, of course not, _melamin_! I-I…"

"Don't call me that!" Legolas opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak, horrified to see Aragorn's eyes blaze with anger.

Even hurting like that, Legolas was beautiful beyond words.

If anything, the fear and hurt he felt made him even more gorgeous, more desirable.

However, anger and jealousy made a quick job of killing any instinct Aragorn may have to hold the Elf to himself, to claim those trembling lips or stroke that ashen face.

"So that was it?" he spat out. "I was just a momentary distraction until you met your dear Haldir again? I was just some toy to you, that you could use and then discard? That's why you came with us? With the hope to see him?!"

"No! Aragorn listen, I…"

"And here I was, seriously thinking to call off my engagement! Seriously thinking to mess up my life and the destiny of the whole *world* just to be with *you*."

Legolas shook his head, not really understanding what his beloved was talking about, but stricken by it all the same. Since he'd admitted his love for the Ranger there hadn't been one single moment in which he hadn't thought to call off the marriage with Estel. Yet, not even once had his heart been able to convince his rational mind that his happiness was more important that the result of the warfare.

It simply wasn't.

And now, hearing Aragorn speak so pained him beyond words.

His heart clenched, and for the first time Legolas wondered if an Elf could really marry without love, longing from someone distant, and survive the grief.

Especially since his love was quickly turning into something unrequited and hurtful.

"How many others there have been, uhn? Have you used them all as a momentary replacement for Haldir, or he too is just a toy?" By now, Legolas's eyes were filled with tears, but Aragorn did not –would not let himself- heed them, just as he had no apparent reaction when those lovely eyes dimmed, and those lovely lips began to tremble twofold.

"A whore you think I am, then?" Legolas murmured. "I… I cannot believe it! Have you heard none of all those promises of love I uttered…? Or is it just that you don't find them worthy enough?" He surrendered at last, and let the tears run freely down his cheeks. "Haldir was just trying to help me. The water was for us, Aragorn. For us, who are in love, but will be parted forevermore once we're in Gondor. It was to bless the pure love I thought stood between us, and that you seem to regard so little."

Some of Legolas's words seemed to finally made it through the angered haze clogging Aragorn's mind. His own eyes widened. His face paled.

"…us?" he asked, forcing the words past his suddenly lips.

"Have you ever loved someone so much that you'd do anything for them, Aragorn?" Legolas whispered, so quietly that for moment Aragorn doubted it was but an illusion of his clouded mind. "That you feel like something withers deep inside yourself whenever you're not near them? That you'd give up everything to see them happy?" He let out a shaky breath, and looked down at the moon's wavering reflection on the water, his smile bitter and his eye filled with longing. "Have you ever felt like your heart beats at unison with theirs? Have you ever loved someone so completely that losing them you *knew* you'd lose your life?" At this point Legolas looked straight into Aragorn's wide eyes. "That's how I love you. How I thought you loved me also. How… how I *loved* you."

And that said, he ran.

Ran from Aragorn, ran from all the hurt, the pain, the promises they'd made.

Ran, towards his room and closer to his marriage.

A marriage he thought useless to call off, by now.

* * * * *

Aragorn stared after Legolas, speechless, eyes squinted as he watched the Elf glide weightlessly away, until the unfeeling black shadows swallowed him and his soft light.

Then something happened that had never been seen before.

Aragorn, Estel, chieftain of the Dùnedain, nephew of Elrond, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor and betrothed to the Morning Star of Mirkwood, was –for the first time in his life- slapped. Boromir's hand connected hard and fast with his cheek, and Aragorn reeled backwards, one hand flying up to his face in his shock.

When he looked up, Boromir's eyes were aflame with anger and strangely filled with sorrow.

"Have you an idea of what you've done to him?" the Knight hissed, his voice low and hoarse. "Do you know what it means to have the love of an Elf? No, Aragorn, you don't. Or else you would treasure it, cherish it even, and never forsake it!" Aragorn lowered his eyes, unable and to some extent unwilling to say anything. The other Man saw his Prince's helplessness, and his eyes softened, his voice turning kind. "When Elves fall in love it is once and forever, Estel. For Legolas to give you his heart means to die and little inside each time you part, each time you fight. It means to leave this world the moment *you* do."

"He loves not Haldir, he loves you!" He cried then, when Aragorn still would not say a thing. One moment, and suddenly his words became pained – nor did they seem meant for only just Aragorn. "Even if you can't understand how or why… you have this Elf's heart. Even if you're just a mere mortal and think yourself unworthy of such gift, and think him too perfect for you. Even if there won't a moment in your life in which you won't scream at the sky because you don't *want* him to die for you… he loves you. You feel helpless because -regardless of your wishes, of your love- *that* is what will happen: one Elf, one wonderful light, will be lost to Middle Earth because of *you*. And even as it pains you, you can't change it, nor you want to. Because not only you have his heart - he has yours as well." When he lapsed into silence a strange stillness came onto the glade, even the usual nighttimes sounds gone.

Aragorn took the chance of looking up at Boromir's face, feeling strangely meek.

His friend had slapped him.

The subordinate had reprimanded his future King as though he was but a mere child.

Right then, Aragorn would have hugged him.

There was a long pause. One in which nothing sounded in Aragorn's ears, if not the rushing boom of his blood. Then Boromir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Go to him. Please. Don't break his heart. Don't let him pine away for something he thinks lost." And when Aragorn opened his mouth to ask, he explained softly: "You."

And, because he knew his friend was right, Aragorn turned and ran, without another word.

* * * * *

He found Legolas where he thought he would – curled up in the secluded _talan_ Galadriel had given him. He was still crying silently, frail body wracked by quaking shudders. His hair was a wet, tangled mess that fell in small, wild strands across his shoulders and face. His cheeks were the colour of strawberries, but the rest of his skin was pale, glittering wet with little drops coming from either the Nimrodel or his eyes - his eyes, lovely and deep and beautiful even as tears made them red and puffy.

All in all, he was the most beautiful thing Aragorn had ever seen.

"Legolas…?" dared the Man, moving one step closer. The elf sniffled, casting a quick glance up at him over his shoulder. "My love, don't cry."

"Elves don't cry." Was the whispered reply. Aragorn cringed. Not for the tone – it was soft, and tender even- but for the unspoken truth laying behind those words.

Elves do not cry, unless their heart is breaking.

Legolas shifted a bit, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to look suspect as he did.

"Why?" Aragorn started at the sound of the Elf's voice. Surely, that feeble whisper wasn't his…?

"Why what, Legolas?" he said softly.

"You called me 'my love'. Why?" I thought… I thought you didn't love me anymore."

"Love cannot be quenched so easily by unfounded jealousy – especially not a love as strong as mine." Legolas looked like he desperately wanted – no, needed – to believe him. Yet…

"You say you love me, and yet you don't trust me." Aragorn stared at his own hands.

"It's *myself* I don't trust. I knew I was not worthy of your love. I knew I would have hurt you one day. Just… I didn't think it would happen so soon. I didn't know myself to be so foolish. I'm disappointed of myself – I will understand if you're too."

"Disappointed of you?" Legolas mused. "Never. Of me? Very much so." _For I had not the strength to tell you the truth. _

Aragorn closed his eyes. Was Legolas disappointed in himself for trusting his heart to such a low creature as himself, he wondered.

"Had you really," Legolas sat slowly up, drawing his long legs closer to his torso. "Thought about breaking off your engagement for me?" Aragorn leaned back against one thick branch, not quite looking at Legolas, instead focusing on the Elf's dark shadow on the floor.

"Many times. But I don't think I can really do it." He rubbed his face harshly with both hands. "Ah! Now that was the understatement of the Era. They won't let me do it. Ever. Not even with my death could I free myself from this marriage."

"How is she like…?" Still gazing downwards, Aragorn smiled bitterly at Legolas's genuine wonder.

"She's special, really. But I don't love her, and I never will. She's just the kind of person you'd like, though. I know. I know it only too well." If Legolas noticed the underlying hopelessness in the Man's dulcet tones, or his attempt to hint to something more, he did not show it. He just nodded, lost somewhere in his own thoughts.

"There has been dishonesty between us… Aragorn." Legolas whispered at last, rubbing his hands hard along his arms, as if trying to rid himself of a coldness Elves should not feel. He'd almost let himself call the Man 'love' but deep inside he felt it was no time for such lovely endearments.

And maybe, after his confession, it would never be again.

Aragorn noticed that Legolas refrained from referring to him affectionately, and he felt his heart clench at the idea his stupid jealousy had lost him this wonderful creature's love. He risked a glance at the Elf, but Legolas eyes were cast downwards, and still suspiciously bright.

"I've know since the beginning that you were to be married soon." Legolas said softly. Aragorn groaned, and made it to explain, but Legolas silenced him.

Not verbally.

He just raised his eyes, and Aragorn could not say a word to the sorrow he saw there.

"But I have no right to react like I do. I've no right to be jealous, or angry. Yet I can't help it, because I love you." He paused, shifting backwards when the Man made as if to come closer.

"But… the real reason why I've no right to… to be angry it's because… oh, Aragorn I'm engaged too!" he cried, dropping his forehead on his bent knees, gripping the fabric of his shirt so hard his knuckles turned white.

"…Legolas?"

"It's not of my choice… I… I've been handed over from my country to another by my Father. He's… using me, as a politic tool. The real reason why I'm following you to Gondor, it's because my future husband awaits me there." Aragorn's knees gave way and he found himself kneeling on the floor, almost in a daze.

"…husband?" he croaked.

"Oh, Aragorn I'm so sorry, so sorry! I love you so much, so much it hurts, but I can't call off the marriage! I can't! I wanted Elbereth to bless us before we parted ways forevermore, because no matter where I'll go, what I'll do, the only one I'll ever love is you!" he was silenced abruptly when Aragorn's arms encircled him, and the man held him fiercely to his chest.

"You hate me now, don't you?" whispered the Elf.

"Hate you?" Aragorn's laugh was hoarse and low, more like a strangled sob. "I love you, Legolas! Like I've never loved anyone, and I can't have you because I must marry someone of my Uncle's choosing! This marriage will turn the warfare in our favour, he says; it will give those that fight Sauron a new hope… and I can't call it off… I simply… can't." He paused, gently running his hand through Legolas's hair.

"I was so glad I could be of help, so proud! I cared not if I was to marry someone I did not know or love. I deluded myself into thinking it would be easy to sacrifice my happiness for Middle Earth's sake. But now… now that I have you…" he trailed off, broken. He placed a soft lingering kiss on Legolas forehead, then one on his nose. And when he saw no trace of bitterness on anger in the Elf's blue eyes, he touched his lips to Legolas's.

"We're such fools, aren't we, love?"

"Yes." Legolas smiled against the Man's chest. A small, broken smile. "But I'm the happiest fool to ever walk middle Earth as long as I have you." He too lapsed into silence, and his hand came up on its own volition to finger the jewel around his neck.

"This leaf…" Aragorn whispered after a moment of silence, he too sliding his fingers gently over the pendant. "A green leaf… the symbol of your name… lego las… You've been fumbling with it since we came to Lòrien. And even before we arrived here, you never wore it off. What is it? What does it mean to you?" Legolas's hand curled around the Green Leaf. The Elf shivered, and Aragorn felt a pang of regret for his curiosity.

"My mother gave it to me when she sailed over to the West." Legolas said at last, and his voice, usually so proud and strong, sounded strangely feeble in the darkness. The jewel felt warm at the touch, and Legolas played it about gently. "She said that one day, if the war continued, Father may have ordered me to twine my life with someone of his choosing. Like a mere toy -a tool- I would be handed over to a stranger from my country to theirs. And for Middle Earth's sake I would have to agree, she said, and give my hand in marriage to whoever Father chose. But this-" Legolas opened his palm, flicking his gaze lovingly over the Green Leaf. "-would always remain mine to give to whom I will." He looked up then, blue eyes bottomless, and searched for something inside Aragorn's own eyes.

"Like my heart."

Aragorn's breath caught. Legolas's eyes where deep and bright, and watched him with such intensity that the Man felt his breath catch, his heart stop. He watched dumbly as the pendant slid from Legolas's fingers to thump against his chest, the Elf's hand raising tentatively towards him. Aragorn closed his eyes when Legolas's fingertips explored his face, sliding across his forehead, his closed eyelids; they skimmed gently down his cheek, tracing his nose and ghosting over his lips. Then the fingers left his face, and Aragorn felt them dance across his palm, until something warm and light was pressed into it. He looked down, and saw Legolas's fingers close about his own around the Green Leaf.

"Would you take it?"

Aragorn's eyes jumped from the Green Leaf glittering quietly in his palm into Legolas's bright eyes. He felt a smile start to form on his lips, both sad and happy, but taming it he placed the jewel back into Legolas's hand.

The Elf's eyes flashed in pain.

Did Aragorn not love him anymore? Was he still so angry with him?

Or maybe, it was just that his love for the Elf was not as strong as Legolas had thought? Not strong enough to allow them few moments of freedom before they had to give it up for the greater good?

The poor Prince was about to turn and run away, apologizing meekly for having bothered the Man with his feelings, when Aragorn moved at last, and sealed their fate.

Gently, he brought his Elf's hand up to his face, and softly kissed the inside of the slender wrist.

"And keep it forever, _lirimaer**_. Please, put it around my neck yourself." Legolas nodded, not trusting his voice, and reached up and around the Man's neck. When his fingers were done working the clasp, he brushed them gently against the back of Aragorn's neck, running them slowly down his shoulders and arms to his hands, where their fingers met and twined together.

Only then did he lean up to place a kiss on Aragorn's mouth.

A moan escaped him when Aragorn's tongue traced a wet line across his lips, and more still escaped both as their tongues met, teased and danced, fighting for a domination that was both searched and given. For a small eternity they kissed, their mouths and hands the only parts of their bodies touching. Then, as softly as it had begun the kiss ended, and they separated, lips still hovering close, feeling shocks running up and down their spines.

One moment, and Legolas smiled a secretive smile at the Man, gently drawing Aragorn down on the floor and on top of himself, the Man unresisting, surprised, yet pleasantly so.

"Would you take *me*, then?"

"Legolas………………………………………………"

They began kissing again, under the stars and the moon, oblivious to anything but the other. Aragorn's hands began to slowly roam over the plains and curves of Legolas's body, exploring, discovering, pleasing. 

The Elf was tantalizing to his senses, driving him into something beyond desire. 

He lost himself completely on the taste of those lips, of that pale skin. In the feel of that silky hair, that run like water through his fingers. In the rhythmic rise and fall of the Elf's chest as he breathed - as _they_ breathed, in spending unison. 

Not once did Legolas's lips neglect the Man's body. 

Teasing, exploring and, most of all, worshipping. 

He was breathless, and rapt. As thought caught in the depths of a dream his body felt warm, tingling deliciously. His heart boomed in his ears, quicker and louder than he'd imagined possible. And Aragorn's heart, pounding against his own as they moved together, was just as quick, just as loud. 

Moonlight was soon spilling over naked forms moving in slow, perfect unison; it dappled over slender muscles, made sweaty skin gleam wet, suffused their bodies with gentle a glow. Around them, moans and whispers mingled with the rustling leaves, and the gentle chattering of the distant, lovely Nimrodel raised to the ears.

Legolas felt as if he was finally at peace, and closing his eyes, he arched into Aragorn's warm touch, whispering his name into the night, hearing his own name whispered back just as softly, and then cried breathlessly.

A shudder, a sob, and they reached completion. It was a moment that both of them would remember for always as the closest they would ever come to perfection. Every following joy in their life would be but a shadow of such brilliance.

Somewhere amidst the light, Elbereth looked down, and blessed them, who had touched the water of the scared river with pure love in their hearts.

**TBC **

_*_ Legolas was about to say: _Melamin_: My love 

** _Lirimaer_: lovely one 

**Uhmm… more serious chapter = crappier chapter. **

**Neways, Aragorn and Legolas are *not* done being awfully cute on the _talan _floor. *nudge-nudge, wink-wink* Next chapter shall contain more of that. Nothing detailed, though. Sorry. =) **

**Also, I apologize in advance to all those who don't like/care for Arwen and Boromir's relationship, but I can't really find it in myself to leave them hanging. I've the perfect ending for them already in mind *taps finger against her forehead*, so you're going to see more interaction between them, at least in the next chapter. **

**On an additional note, I made some minor changes to the previous chapter and re-posted it. Nothing big – some mistakes corrected, and one single line about Boromir slightly revised. =)**


	18. Chapter 18

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 18 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Who are, in this chapter, still sharing the same bed – well, floor. Also, there's some Arw/B romance. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Linguistic Note: _**_The Elvish phrases Arwen says are taken from the movies – I could not resist. I shamelessly turned the A/Arw dialogues of the movies into B/Arw ones. ^^;; _

**_Note: _**_If I had to choose a name for this chapter, I would surely call it "Love is in the Air" *chuckles* this is divided in three parts: the first is about Aragorn and Legolas being awfully cute. The second is about Elladan and Éowyn (I received a lot of mails asking if they were a couple – well, they aren't. Yet. Should I put them together? =) ). And the last one is about Boromir and Arwen. _

**_Note 2: _**_In this chapter I mention the story of Beren and Lúthien, but strangely enough I didn't mess up with it like I did with The Hobbit in chapter 15 =) _

**_Note 3: _**_I think there's something seriously wrong with the use of the past tense in this chapter… ergh… sorry... _

**_Rating:_**_ R  
  
_

* * * * *

Legolas was the first to wake the next morn.

He first opened his eyes at dawn, feeling sore in the strangest places, yet so happy that he wondered if his heart wasn't about to physically burst out of his chest. After a moment of confusion he became more or less aware of his surroundings, but acutely aware of the warm and strong form he was using as a pillow – and mattress.

Aragorn.

As the Elf realized exactly where he was, and what had happened, he had to quench an impossible urge to giggle rather foolishly. That first instinct tamed, his arms moved on their own accord, one wrapping behind Aragorn's back to pull him closer, the other burying itself in the Man's unruly strands.

He hadn't moved since then, and the Sun was now high enough to filter through the leaves and create patches of golden and white on the floor. And, though not unpleasant, the air had become chilling. Idly, Legolas thought he should go and retrieve a blanket of sorts to wrap around their naked bodies, but really couldn't find it in himself to leave Aragorn's side.

_Addicted to a Man,_ he mused. _If anyone ever told me I would once become addicted to a mortal man, I would surely have their sanity tested. _

So he opted for just laying atop his lover, unwilling to do anything more than breath. He leaned his head on Aragorn's shoulder, kissing softly the gently sloping hollow were his neck and shoulder met. 

_It is a shame that night doesn't last forever._ He thought. Outside, a bird called. Legolas glanced up lazily, spotting a royal Eagle coasting across the lingering darkness; then he focused back on his lover. 

In a few hours –days, perhaps- they would have to leave for Gondor, and there remain, close enough to touch but as distant as they'd ever be. 

In a few days, they'd have to let the other go, and forget. 

_I wonder if I could order him not to marry once I become the Prince Consort of Gondor, and then have him for myself. He's a honourable Man, and faithful to Gondor – he'd never go against his Sire's wishes. _Legolas thought with no little bitterness. _But his life would be destroyed, and he'd hate me. Even if it could be done and in the end I gained his body, I'd still lose him. _

In a rush of melancholia, Legolas reached up memorize the feel of Aragorn's stubble against his fingertips, trying his best not to think about how well he fitted in the Man's strong arms. 

Aragorn stirred under his tender ministrations. Not wanting to disturb the Man's sleep Legolas started to move away, but was immediately yanked back where he belonged – against Aragorn.

"I was just having the most pleasant dream." The Man murmured, eyes still closed.

"Oh?" Legolas inquired, breath warm against the Man's cheek before he kissed it.

"Yeah." Aragorn smiled.

"What about?"

"You." Aragorn reached up to brush a strand of hair off of Legolas's face, eyes open at last. "Though I may admit, I can try till the end of time, but I'll never conceive a dream that's more perfect than the real you." He sighed and looked at Legolas earnestly, tenderly cupping his cheek.

"Flatterer." Legolas shot back, hoping he was not blushing. No such luck – Aragorn was grinning from ear to ear in amusement.

"Anything to seduce my favourite Elf."

"Oh, so now you're trying to seduce me?" Legolas said, one eyebrow arched up.

"Not yet…" Aragorn trailed off. One moment, and he had reversed their positions, pinning Legolas to the ground with his larger frame, raining small, wet kisses up and down the lovely expanse of the Elf's neck. "Now I am."

"A-Aragorn we shouldn't really…" his words changed into a gasp when Aragorn suckled the skin near the Elf's collarbone and at the same time reached up to fondle the point of his ear– the only weak spot an Elf had.

"Shouldn't what?" Aragorn's voice was husky, but still held a small tremble hinting to how amused he was by the Elf's sudden inability to breath. Legolas, the Prince of Multitask Looks shoot him one look that hovered in-between the "Don't_you_dare_laugh_at_me"-one and the "Are_you_really_asking"-one, even as it held a remarkable similarity to the "Ignore_whatever_my_mouth_is_uttering_and_PLEASE_DON'T_stop"-one.

"They must be waiting for us. We were going to have breakfa—HMM!" Aragorn thrust his tongue into the Elf's open mouth, effectively silencing him. 

Legolas's capitulation was quick and painless. He surrendered silently to the kiss, even though he started to babble softly in Elven when Aragorn went back to tease the Elf's chest with his mouth. Every thought of having breakfast fled from his mind. In fact, thinking became quickly a most difficult task for Legolas. He was only remotely aware of Aragorn's hand sliding up to find his own. Yet, even in his daze Legolas started at the feeling of something cold slipping on his ring finger. His head shot up, and he blinked owlishly at the ring shining quietly on his hand. It was truly a work of beauty, which twined both the craftsmanship of Elves and that of Dwarves: a band of shining _mithril_, in which was cast one emerald as green as Mirkwood leaves.

"Fits perfectly." Aragorn smiled against the Elf's bare chest. "I knew." Legolas heaved a shaky breath.

"A-Aragorn…?" he whispered, barely breathing for the tension. "W-what…?" The Man stopped tracing lazy circle on the lovely expanse of Legolas's stomach, and leaned up to rest his ear above the Elf's beating heart.

"'Tis the ring of Barahir," Aragorn said softly. "Long has it been passed down through my family. I…" he moved away just some, running a hand through his hair. "I…"

"Shh…" Legolas whispered, placing one slender finger on the Man's lips. His voice was soft, loving. "You don't have to say it, if it is so difficult."

"It's because it is so difficult that I've to say it." Aragorn exhaled loudly, leaning up to sit on his heels, Legolas following him. The Man glanced at a movement out of the corner of his eye, barely making out an Eagle darting through the clouds, and then vanishing among the treetops. Then he began.

"I've never had many important things in my life. Not a family, having lost mine, nor true friends, being I noble. Few were those that really cared for me, and not for my nobility. Maybe only Arwen and Boromir did. Then… then I met you, and I found someone that loves me, and not whatever person I shall have to become to satisfy my people's expectance. I found someone I care for more than my own self. I found a family, a friend, someone who I belong with. I found… you. And I don't think I could ever let you go." He found his eyes had strayed back onto Legolas. He smiled tentatively, taking Legolas's hand in both his larger ones, and lovingly stroked his thumb across the ring. "I don't know if I'll be allowed to call off my marriage, or if you will. But, if you want this too, I'm ready to try. I'm ready to fight, until they see reason and let *us* marry. If… if you want me."

"Want you?" Legolas smiled, cupping Aragorn's face and bringing it down to kiss him thoroughly.

"Would if I could marry you right in this moment, _melamin_!" He very nearly cried out when they separated. Aragorn purred out an incoherent something, smiling dazedly, with his eyes closed and his cheeks flushed. In the whole, he looked more than just a little dazed. Legolas mentally gave himself a hand-shake: he didn't think he'd ever kissed anyone senseless before. Well, not that he'd ever kissed anyone before Aragorn, but that's just a minor detail.

He was so lost in complimenting himself that he didn't even notice it when Aragorn's look turned from blissful from feral. With a speed one would not expect from a Man Aragorn had them both on the floor again, his fingers busy worshipping Legolas's hair.

"Now that that's settled, can we get to the interesting part? Like, work a little on the wedding night?" he asked casually.

"So you've only been interested in my body all along?"

"Definitely." Aragorn ducked when Legolas swung his fist at him, but didn't manage to stop Legolas when the Elf rolled them over and straddled him, pinning his wrists lightly to the floor.

"That was just the most romantic moment of my life, and you go and ruin it!" Legolas tried hard to look offended.

"I'm up for a punishment, if it means you'll keep straddling me so!"

"Aragorn! You're impossible!"

"And you love me for it."

"Maybe…" Legolas smiled casually, and secured the Man's wrist in one hand, skidding his fingers down Aragorn's arms to his chest. He hovered closer, smiling with all the sensuality he could muster (and that meant a LOT); and when Aragorn looked at him eagerly, he…

…began to tickle the Man mercilessly.

"Agh! Legolas no! Ahahahah! Let go! Aaaaah… Let go!"

"This spot is ticklish, uhm? I'll remember that."

"No! Legolas! Ahahaha! Have mercy!"

"Like you deserve it!"

"Lego-ahahahahahah!-las!!!!"

"Yup, that's approximately my name. What?"

"S-s-stop!"

"I'm not even started, my dear!"

Much, much later a sleepy, elated, sticky Legolas cuddled up against a flushed and equally elated (and sticky) Aragorn.

"Love you."

"Love you too, my Elf."

* * * * *

Any of us has –when in need to concentrate- one peculiar trick to make his or her mind work better. Some find it easier to concentrate if they sit alone, in perfect silence and darkness. Some find it easier to concentrate while immersed in the nature, for example watching the water of a river flow by. Some others need to keep their hands occupied as their mind works.

As Elladan soon found out, Éowyn belongs to the latter category – but with a distinction.

She didn't need her hands to do just *something*, to concentrate.

She needed to braid hair.

Preferably elven hair.

Preferably blonde, but since they still had to create hair dye, Elladan auburn hair would have to do.

"I've never, *ever* seen anyone blinder than those two!" Éowyn muttered, grasping one strand of Elladan's fine hair and pulling savagely. "Brush." She called, then snatching the silvery brush from Elladan as he handed it to her.

They had made themselves comfortable on the floorof Éowyn's _talan – _the same _talan _where them both plus Arwen had spent the night long chatting, laughing, drinking hot cocoa, eating cakes and dozing off a little. Not that any of them had expected Elladan to stay the night when they'd reached the _talan _the previous evening. It's just that, after knocking him out, Éowyn couldn't really find it in herself to leave him sprawled on the forest floor. So Arwen and she had somehow managed to drag him upstairs and place him in bed.

After that, it didn't take him much to come back to his senses at all: seeing that slapping him didn't help (no matter how hard she did it) Éowyn resolved to splash the poor Elf with a bucket of icy water, drenching him and the bed from head to toe. However, when he awoke they all started chatting amiably, and completely lost track of time.

The first rays of the sun discovered them sleeping all curled up in a pile, as though they were three Hobbits and not Three Elves -- well two real Elves and one fake. But then Arwen had been summoned by her Grandmother and left Elladan and Éowyn alone, still sleeping contentedly. When Haldir showed up, barely after dawn, to fetch her, the Evenstar lovingly tucked one additional blanket around Elladan and Éowyn's bodies, disentangled one from the other enough so they wouldn't wake up to all of their muscles cramping (she watched in fascination as the two got entangled again immediately after she was done), and scribbled them a note. With one final caress to Éowyn's hair and one kiss to Elladan's forehead she'd left, murmuring an Elven incantation to grant them a peaceful sleep.

It wasn't much later that Éowyn awakoke to find Arwen's note and the plate of warm cookies she'd sent them from the kitchens. Not even bothering to give him a proper good morning, the fake _Aurêl_ had then proceeded to yank a shirtless Elladan on the floor with a screech. Kneeling behind him, and muttering constantly about how she needed to braid hair if she wanted to concentrate enough to elaborate a new plan, she caught his hair and began to untangle it. Sleepy, but still ready to help, Elladan had submitted, hoping in his heart that they would be able to finally match Arwen and Boromir up – those two had been in love for longer than even he cared to admit, and it pained him to see them so lost.

So far, no luck. The plans they'd come out with were all along the lines of "let's lock them together in a secluded grotto which has only some provisions and one bed inside", and not really applicable. Especially because –as Éowyn had pointed out- there were no caves around, unless Moria; but that was just a tad too huge for their plan to work.

"Okay. What do you say, if we go over this one more time?" Elladan moaned, rubbing his forehead. Éowyn nodded, though what good could it be from behind him she was not sure. Luckily Elladan caught her movement in the long mirror sat in front of him.

"So, Boromir is attracted to Arwen." He began.

"More like 'in love with'. And she with him."

"Indeed. Yet they don't realize it."

"Not at all. Here." She handed the brush back to Elladan, and went to weave his hair in that customary, elegant pattern of the Elven nobility. Elladan took the offered brush pensively and waved it around thoughtlessly as he spoke.

"For what Arwen spilled out last night, she believes that he sees her only as a friend. She even fears he could see her as some kind of motherly figure. I wonder where she got such an unholy notio---AI!" Éowyn muttered an apology for having yanked his hair so harshly. 

"From me!" She all but yelled. "Cursed be my mouth!" She heaved a sigh and continued twisting and knotting the Elf's fine hair.

"From you?"

"Yes… I mean, once I told her that, since she mothered him, it was unlikely that he'd ever see her as a lover." She glanced up at the mirror, and hunched reflexively under Elladan's glare.

"Why?"

"…ehm… jealousy?"

"I thought you didn't love him."

"I wanted his attention!" Éowyn cried out, exasperated by the Elf's icy tone. She yanked his hair again in her rush, but he didn't even flinch - just kept frowning.

He couldn't, however, be angry at her for more than one split moment. He knew how much she'd wanted to befriend the only other exponent of her race she'd ever seen. He couldn't really blame her for trying to gain Boromir's attention - even if he didn't approve of the methods.

"Don't worry, it's not a problem. We'll get around it."

"You're not angry, then?"

"No, not really." Éowyn finished braiding his hair, but reaching for some pretty hairclips she'd carried from Mirkwood, began adorning his head with shiny pearls and tiny, glassy flowers.

"Thank you, El."

"No problem." A pause. Éowyn didn't even have time to start *_thinking about_* smiling that he added: "It's Elladan, anyway."

Éowyn sighed. "Whatever. What do we do now?" the Elf shrugged.

"What about, we stop plotting behind their backs and just wait and see what happens?"

Huffing, Éowyn placed both hands on Elladan's shoulders and pushed hard, so that the poor Elf topple backwards with a yelp, ending up with his head pillowed on her lap. Her eyes squinted and her teeth bared in ominous warning, Éowyn bent above him and put her face level with his - though upside down.

"Don't you *dare* give up and leave me alone in this, or I'll pound you to a pulp and feed you to the Orcs." He opened his mouth. "And do not even try to ask me 'What Orcs?'" She said, stressing each word slowly. "Or I'll have to demonstrate."

Elladan gave another sigh.

"I never said anything of that kind. I'm not giving up. It's just…" he waved his hand a little, at loss of words. "…aggravating. The way they love each other and yet despair… and not even realizing their *own* feelings!" Éowyn gave a whistling sigh.

"Oh, don't I know." She shook her head, and her hair cascaded down, falling like a curtain around their faces, mingling with his own on his chest, and tickling Elladan's nose annoyingly. Promptly, the Elf reached up to slid some of the stupid strands behind their owner's ear. Éowyn grinned, making Elladan wonder idly of far could he get from whatever she had in mind, if he bolted. But he had not even enough time to finish his thought, that she shook her head again, her hair sweeping across his the Elf's face. She took an obscene amount of pleasure in anything that annoyed Elladan, and was positively relishing in the exasperated grumbles he gave as he tried to tuck her hair back into place.

Just at that moment a resounding gasp came from the entrance of the _talan. _The two turned as one (Elladan having to wipe still more golden hair from his face) towards it. From the entrance, Haldir was watching them as though they had breed each a second head. Éowyn sat back up, while Elladan propped himself up on one elbow.

"What in the name of Elbereth is happening here?" asked the blonde Elf. Éowyn waved him with an air of sufficiency stamped all across her face.

"It's girl stuff. Nothing you would understand." Elladan looked up at her with cross and vaguely hurt look on his face. Then he turned toward an amused and bemused Haldir, and slowly sat up, cross-legged.

"We were just *thinking*." He pointed, barely aware of the flowers and pearls sprouting from his dark mane like little stars.

"Oh," Haldir muttered, arms crossed, staring at the Elf with a look that screamed out loud "Now, why don't I believe you in the slightest?".

Elladan frowned. Why was Haldir looking at him so? He shrugged - and Éowyn pounced to save one glassy flower-shaped hairclip that had fallen from his hair.

"We were talking." He said.

"Surely." Replied the other Elf. Amusedly.

"Thinking."

"Of course."

"…counselling."

"Indeed."

"…err…plotting…?"

"I'm sure of that."

"Please, what *exactly* do you want from us, Haldir?" Éowyn cut them both off. She had her back to them, and was walking up to the nightstand to lovingly replace the precious hairclip in its velvety box.

"The Lady Galadriel wishes the Fellowship to share her table in this fine day." Replied Haldir, one eyebrow raised. "I'm here to tell you that you're awaited in the-- "

"Thanks, thanks." Eowyn waved him away, not even sparing him a glance as she scanned the floor. "We'll be there at noon." She straightened after a fruitless search of what seemed like hours (but was closer to a couple of minutes) and cast a glance at Elladan, her hands on her hips. "El, hon, have you seen my shoes?"

"I put them next to the bed after you kicked them off last night. And it's Elladan, anyway." Replied the Elf, not even looking up as he too searched for something on the floor.

"Sure thing, hon. Oh! I found 'hem! Err… now were did I put my earrings…?"

"In the bathroom. My shirt?"

"Oh, I hung it to a branch to dry off. I had to wash it… you know, it got dirty when I pushed you on the ground. By the way, are you still hurt? I wasn't really gentle."

"Nay, I can withstand much rougher treatments."

Something deep inside Haldir's mind went in a shortcut when the pair said that last couple of lines. Said 'something' began to inanely whisper him to ask-ask-ask-ask-damn, I'm curious!-ask, but a bigger portion of his mind decided he "didn't_really_want_to_know, thank you". Silencing each question, supposition, suspect and whatever that assaulted his mind (and that he was not sure was polite to conceive) was a difficult procedure, but in the end he managed just well – when he finally tamed his mutinying mind, just a compulsive twitch in his left eyebrow showed.

"Oh! Here is it! Thanks for washing it, Éowyn. It's my favourite." Elladan remarked warmly, slipping the silky garment on with the grace of a feline.

"No problem!" Éowyn beamed merrily at him. "You know what, El?"

"Elladan. What?"

"Those flowers really look good on you. I think they just inspired me one very good plan."

"Which includes me and putting flowers in my hair?"

"Definitely."

"I'm not sure I'm going to like it."

"Don't worry. *This* time things will go smoothly. Trust me, El."

"Elladan. Do you remember the bad feeling I had last night?"

"Well?"

"It's increased by tenfold."

"Oh – I'm sorry… morning sickness already, El-hon?"

"E_L_L_A_D_A_N!"

Not really wanting to hear any more Haldir sauntered away, throwing one hasty "See you later" behind his shoulder. Well, in truth his was more of a warp-speed retreat than a saunter – in fact he even hauled dust as he went and nearly got tangled in the rope-ladder. Once on the ground he slowed to a more acceptable pace, surprised to be panting. He began to steer towards the borders, his eyes almost out of their sockets, to find his brothers and start their patrolling.

He'd seen*Elladan* with a remarkable amount of flowers and gems in his hair.

Double check: a *shirtless* Elladan with a remarkable amount of flowers and gems in his hair.

A shirtless Elladan who stood with his mouth inches from *Éowyn*'s own smiling lips.

Éowyn, who was bent above Elladan, cradling his head in her *lap*.

Elladan, who had his fingers tangled in her *hair*.

…Not to mention that comment she did about being *rough* with Elladan the night before. Ehy, but since Elladan said he could withstand *much rougher* treatments, then it must be all right.

…

…right?

…

After all, if she said she had a plan, then-----No, no, wait just a moment.

There was quite definitely something he was missing, here. 

Plan? 

Involving Elladan and the flowers in his hair?

Exactly *what* kind of odd stuff had that pair been doin--?

_Woah, better leave that train of thoughts! _Haldir decided, feeling his face strangely heathen up. Doubling his speed, he ducked his head to stare at his feet as though they were the most interesting thing on Middle Earth. He knew the way to his brothers' post well enough to avoid _mellorn_ trees and bystanders by using just peripheral vision. And to the records, if he bumped against a couple (dozens) of Elves in his haste, it was all theirs fault. Yeah, that's right. All theirs. Hm-hm.

* * * * *

The Fellowship, Lascaran and the Hobbits had a surprisingly good time lunching with Celeborn and Galadriel - though something felt distinctly wrong. Dinnertime went on even smoother than lunch - and even odder. Don't misunderstand me - nothing crazy or even remotely wrong happened during the meals; which is, knowing exactly who participated at this meals, seriously wrong in itself.

Okay, okay, Aragorn and Legolas flirted openly the whole time, feeding each other, stealing kisses with the silly excuse to taste this or that juice presented on the table; and generally being awfully cute, but that's no news. The shocking part is that Éowyn did not spare them even a glance - she was just too caught up trying to convince dear El-hon to agree to this secret plan of hers. While Elladan was, in turn, too occupied stressing the point that he wouldn't help her until she told him *exactly* what she had in mind - and reminding her that 'it was Elladan, anyway'.

Through the whole meal Elladan didn't pay any attention to Elrohir, who sulked and pouted all along at being ignored by his twin. Come on, someone else's fiancée shouldn't be so close to his twin, right? Especially since it's *his* twin we're talking about here… that happened to be the cousin of the girl's fiancé too, now that he thought about it. In his opinion it was bad manners, or something. One can't possibly steal someone else's twin's attentions under their nose, and walk away scot-free. Probably, Elrohir reflected, it wasn't good to steal someone else's fiancée's attentions under their nose either; but hey! He couldn't really blame Elladan for trying. 

For their part, the Hobbits were too engrossed with food to even talk, and Gandalf had never been one very talkative Man. Well, Wizard. Istar. Whatever. So it left only Arwen and Boromir and Celebron and Galadriel to try and start some conversation. Since each and every of their attempts fell to deaf ears, they soon resolved to just savour the famed Lórien cooking and to star-gaze.

Things went back to normality – I mean, problems began again- after dinner.

Suddenly, one of the Hobbits produced a bottle of liquor and one whole pack of excuses why they should drink it. In the end not only the Hobbits, but some bystander Elves, one Wizard and one Squirrel as well stayed up all night, passing the bottle around *all night*, and singing extremely loudly and off-key. All night. They didn't shut up until dawn, and it wasn't until noon that they fell asleep. But what interests us happened way before noon- or dawn, or even midnight. It started when the dinner was over and Boromir left the table to have a walk.

Arwen battled with herself about following him or not, her desire to ease his worries at odds with the though he may want some solitude. She found herself following him in the end, even if she gave him quite some hours of much-needed solitude before allowing herself to look for him. She found him where he always went when in needed of peace.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Arwen asked him as she came up to his side. Boromir nodded. They were inside a small but gorgeous garden, complete with numerous lanterns scattered here and there in the bushes. A clear pond glimmered in the middle of the garden, feeding a series of small bubbling waterfalls. Iridescent colours danced over the silvery water, reflecting the moonlight in a multitude of opalescent hues. Dragonflies floated through the sprays, adding the finishing touch. There, on a small dais before the pond, standing amidst the vines, was the most beautiful stone statue the Elves ever crafted, and the very thing Boromir couldn't stop gazing at.

It portrayed a beautiful Elven maid; and it was so perfect, with the long hair flowing down the small shoulders, the small lips curved upwards into a gentle smile, that one would expect her to steep forward and greet them. Her hands were in front of her and facing upwards, the slender fingers half curled. Currently, they held one of Boromir's own hands.

"She's the loveliest creature I've ever seen," the Man admitted quietly. "Gazing at her smile… I'm not sure how to explain it, but it seems like she's smiling at me, for me, and it eases my mind, somehow." There was a moment of silence, Arwen reaching up to move some leaves from the statue's candid face, and then he turned toward her at last. "It's kind of presumptuous of me to imagine that Lúthien the Fair, the most beautiful amongst the Fair folk, is smiling only for me. Her smile should be only for Beren her love." Arwen smiled at him, so similar to Lúthien, her ancestor, that it dazzled him for a moment.

"It's not presumptuous. It's a beautiful thing." Boromir shrugged, taking his hand back from Lúthien's own, though with no little reluctance.

"More like a childish dream of mine."

"Dreams are important. It may surprise you, how far dreams can lead a person. Or just how much a dream can reveal to those who can listen to it."

"Elves. You and your love for riddles." Boromir remarked warmly. "You're being mysterious again. "

"It's my fault, if Elves are great at that?"

"I'm vaguely tempted to say yes."

"Ehy!"

She chased him up the bridge, and when she was upon him Boromir swirled, catching her slender wrists. Holding her close he spun her round, delighted to hear her laugh ring clear in the darkness. When he stopped, letting her lean back against him, he was surprised at the wet glisten in her eyes.

"What is on your mind, sweet Arwen?" She shrugged against his chest.

"Things."

"Well, thank you for being completely vague." Boromir muttered, rolling his eyes. "Riddles! That's all I get for my genuine concern. Riddles!" she giggled. Then she whispered softly, so softly he didn't really catch the words:

"You shouldn't be so nice with me. It makes everything all the more hard, when saying goodbye is already so--"

"Arwen?"

"Come." She moved from his chest, and taking his hand in both her slender, delicate elven ones, she began to drag him gently away. "I will have you forget every care that burdens you, tonight. I've much to tell you, and so little time…" Boromir laughed.

"Time, Milady? Since when does time bother Elves? We've years ahead of ourselves to talk of anything that comes to mind. I'll enjoy the unwavering beauty of your smile as I grow older and old, while you'll enjoy watching and naming each new line creasing my face." She trembled. And if he didn't knew better he though she heard a sob escape her lips.

"I could never enjoy seeing you fade. Not even if I could be there to see such thing happening."

Boromir frowned. "What do you mean?"

They'd just reached a lovely spot – a moonlit glade suffused with a silvery gleam – and there they stopped, his hand sliding from hers as Arwen moved to clasp them loosely in front of her. The sound of off-key singing drifted past their ears, causing her to smile slightly. When she turned to face him, her eyes shimmered like starts in the soft light.

"You're going to Gondor, and there you'll live your life. Never will we meet again under the _mallorn_ trees of Lórien, or along the fresh Bruinen in my homeland." The Man looked positively stunned. Never? Never again? But surely… *surely* they would meet now and then! He wasn't foolish enough to believe she'd remain in Gondor with him, but… but… he'd thought… he'd hoped… he'd… he… he…

"You're the son of Denethor, Boromir, and the great blood of Nùmenor flows in your veins. You're of noble birth, and noble is your spirit. You're going to be the Steward of Gondor, most certainly." She said softly, and sensing his inner turmoil reached down to take his hand in both of hers. Her touch immediately sedated his fears, made his whole body unwind, his spirits raise some.

"_Renech i lu i erui govannem_? (Do you remember when we first met?)" she whispered. Boromir was swift to nod. How could he forget? He was just a child of a dozen years when he reached Lothlórien with the honey-smelling burden that was a newborn Aragorn in his arms; yet he would never forget it.

A small Company had set off from Gondor to escort the young heir to Rivendell, where he would live with his elven uncle: Elrond the wise. Among the Company were Boromir and Faramir, children of Denethor - both young, both too precious for the future of Gondor to remain where danger lay. After many days of extenuating march the Company reached the Golden Woods of Lothlórien. There, Elrond himself was waiting for them, and so was the saddest tidings: both the King and the Queen of Gondor had perished.

Little Faramir, along with those soldiers who were in the Company, immediately asked to be sent to the borders and fight. But Boromir couldn't choose his path. He wanted to fight, to go to the borders and prove his valour, but…

…but the King had entrusted Aragorn to *him* personally, and he would not breach his trust. "Take care of my son," the King had said. "Protect him young Knight, and guide him until it will be time for him to reclaim the throne." It was his mission, and he could not forsake it. But Faramir was his beloved brother, and Gondor his home – could he really let them go, even if it was for the greater good?

Lost in thought the young Man began to wander under the _mallorn_ trees, heedless of his path. Then, a sweet voice raised in song reached his ears, relaxing him even as it beckoned him closer. He followed the hauntingly lovely sound into a small glade, green and round, suffused with silvery Moonlight. There he stopped, frozen in place, and then a creature from a dream appeared in front of his eyes – a young Maiden, with her dark hair woven of the night itself and her grey eyes shining like stars. She sang and danced amid the light, her head crowned with stars, with a fresh fragrance about her. He gazed at her in silence, marvelling at her beauty, until she made as if to leave. Panicked, Boromir called for her, not really knowing what he was saying, but just needing to keep her there, with him.

_"Tinúviel!"_ He cried, and was amazed to see her come to him, smiling. Then she spoke to him, and his path became suddenly clear in his eyes – he would protect Aragorn, who the Elves called Estel, and guide the young Prince till he reclaimed his throne; and then he'd stay with this sweet maiden always, forever.

Much, much later Boromir came to know the lay of Beren and Lúthien, and even to this date it still amazed him how much like that legendary Man he'd reacted. At that time he hadn't known who _Lúthien Tinúviel_ was, nor the legend of her tragic love, nor even the meaning of the Elven word he spoke to keep Arwen from leaving; yet he'd called her _Tinúviel,_ like Beren had done centuries before when he met with his love Lúthien.

Was it fate? A mere coincidence? Or something deeper, more subtle, that he still wasn't ready to face?

"_Nauthannem i ned i ol reniannen_.(I thought I had strayed into a dream. )" Boromir whispered back, ridding himself of the memories to focus on Arwen. She cupped his face in one gentle hand, still gazing at him lovingly.

"_Gwenwin in enniath. U-arnech in naeth i si celich_.(Long years have passed. You did not wear the troubles you carry now.)" her finger slid across his forehead, brushing a strand of dark hair back into place. "_Renech i beth i bennen?_("Do you remember what I told you?)"

"You said the time would come for me to go back to Gondor, and there prove my worth. That long after my death they would sing of my life."

"And this is what will happen." She sighed. "You're a noble spirit Boromir, and I know that you'll prove to be great among Men, and will always be remembered. But first you must go to Gondor, my Knight. _Han bâd lîn. _(That is your path.)" Boromir exhaled shakily, again facing one decision that made him feel troubled and lost like a child. He still wanted to fight the Dark Lord with his bare hands, wanted to free the world of its fears and pain, but he could not bring himself to forsake the mission his King had given him: he could not leave Estel's side.

Or –more simply- Arwen.

"_Dolen i vâd o nin._ (My path is hidden from me.)" he murmured.

_"Si peliannen i vâd na dail lîn. Si boe ú-dhannathach." _(It is already laid before your feet, you cannot falter now.)

"Arwen…" she took hold of his hand, and pressed it on his own heart, her hand a warm pressure over his own.

"_Ae ú-esteliach nad... estelio han_ (If you trust nothing else, trust this_.)" _She whispered. Softly, she laid her head on the Man's broad shoulder and sighed, eyes closed. Boromir's heart began to pound.

He did not know what that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest was, but he quickly decided that he liked it, and that would gladly grow accustomed to an eternity spent feeling it.

Next to Arwen.

"Few know of it," she said at length. "But I too have the power to see the future, Boromir. Unlike my Grandmother or my Father, I can't control my power. Visions come to me, unbidden, without me calling them forth. I saw you in the Minas Tirith, acclaimed and loved by your people. I saw it the moment I first touched your hand, so many years ago."

"R-really?"

"Yes. They loved you in my vision, very much so. Silver trumpets beckoned you home as people cried Estel's name and then yours, and all were happy. Oh, Boromir! The White tower of Ecthelion is so beautiful… glimmering like a spike of silver, with its banners caught in the morning breeze. There is where your path is leading you."

Boromir shook his head, then tucked his chin over Arwen's head, her hair soft and as silky against his skin.

"I've but a blurred memory of the Wither Tower. It used to fill my dreams when I was a child." He confessed with a voice full of awe.

"You will see it again, and again call it home." She assure softly. Then she snuggled closer, catching him off guard with her action as well that with her words:

"I saw what awaits for us in the last part of our journey, Boromir. They were just fragments, small lights without shape, broken, blurred; but I saw them, nevertheless. And I… I'm scared of what I saw. I'm not ready to face it, for I am selfish, and even as I know you'll be happy in your homeland, I don't want to leave you."

The Knight was about to question her, when Haldir and his two brothers came crashing down into the clearing, looking dishevelled and positively shocked.

"What news from the borders, Haldir?" Boromir hollered, gingerly placing a respectful distance between him and Arwen. The Elf's eyes flashed dangerously when he turned to look at the Man.

"Orcs! Orcs into the Golden Woods!" He dashed away, leaving Boromir feeling dazzled. When he turned, wanting to usher Arwen away from danger and go with her to inform Estel of the attack, he found that she'd gone.

**TBC **

**Woah! This was longer than the other chapters! =) **

**On a saddest –so to speak- note, this story is coming to an end. **

**Next chapter the Company leaves Lothlórien for the ruins of Edoras, the City where Éowyn was born. From there to Gondor it will take no time at all, and once there… well, we all know what will happen once there. ;) **

**It's only three or fours chapters to the end, unless my muses start throwing ideas at me. ^^;; **

**Uhm… I'm seriously considering to have Aragorn and Legolas discovering the other's identity only when in the middle of the wedding ceremony. Uhh… I'm not sure…**

**On a final note – Boromir and Arwen are in love, but while he was enchanted by her since the beginning, she fell for him only later, when he was older… around 25, or something… *looks around* Uhm, well… just thought to make it clear…you know? *blushes* I'm gonna shut up, now...**   



	19. Chapter 19

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 19 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Who are, in this chapter, still sharing the same bed – well, floor. Also, there's some Arw/B romance. _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note: _**_Elladan and Éowyn are reaching new levels of cuteness… they can't compare with Aragorn and Legolas, though. =o) _

**_Rating:_**_ R  
  
_

* * * * *

Galadriel's first reaction when Haldir had rushed to her and told her about the Orcs had been to start *pacing*. She'd gone back and forth across the _talan _forso long that a slightly hollow trail was already visible on the otherwise level floor. Celeborn, on the other hand, was still more on the land of sleepers than that of living, thus had no visible reaction other than falling asleep and starting awake repeatedly.

The Mighty Lord of the Golden Woods, Husband of Galadriel and Grandfather of Arwen Undomiel, was sitting on the edge of the bed in his favourite sleeping clothes –pearly white nightshirt, furry bunny slippers and one lovely cap complete with a fluffy ball on the tip- and being generally quite. He was nodding sleepily (having still to recover from all that Hobbit liquor he'd had after dinner), but much to his distress each time he dozed off he was awakened rather abruptly by either Galadriel's disarticulated grumbles, or Rúmil's elbow driving sharply into his side.

Haldir gave a wistful sigh, glanced briefly at the sun, and then shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The three Guardians had reached the royal _talan _few hours before dawn; now the Sun hung high over the horizon, but the Queen had yet to speak one single word. Not that we could really blame her: Orcs, the vilest creatures on Middle Earth and only race the Elves could say to hate, had been able to break into the Golden Woods. They were advancing hastily toward the inhabited area destroying everything that hindered their march, wanting to either capture or kill both the heirs of Gondor and Mirkwood. She was sincerely at loss of what to do – she doubted the tricks of the Spirits of _Morfëataur_ would be of any use there, and fleeing was never an option… not with the pride of her people at stake!

Haldir was experiencing his first ever wave of dizziness when Galadriel finally stopped pacing, much to his stomach's relief. The Lady looked still deep in thought, and it took her several precious minutes to come back to Middle Earth. Blinking wonderingly at it she stepped out of the trail she'd dug in the floor, and stood in all her glory in front of the three Guardians, a fierce determination wafting by her gleaming eyes.

"We must reunite the Fellowship of the Star and have them leaving the Golden Woods as soon as possible. Rúmil, Orophin! We've no other choice but to let them use the underground route! Go open it, and be ready to seal it again once the Fellowship's left! Haldir, take care of reuniting the Fellowship at the Black Gate. All of you, be swift! And not a word must be uttered about the real identities of either the _Aurêl_ or the _Elfstone_, am I clear?"

Rúmil and Orophin, albeit shaken, nodded to their Queen and hurried to the entrance of the underground route, muttering prayers in their minds that nothing foul would happen (or emerge into Lórien…) once they broke the seals on the Black Gate.

Haldir looked about him in a quest for words, then met Galadriel's inquiring gaze obliquely.

"Your Majesty… couldn't you possibly send someone else to inform Elladan and Éowyn…? I'm not quite sure I've recovered from the last visit to their _talan._"

Galadriel is truly a lovable, kind and understanding person.

That's why she just glared at Haldir, refraining from doing unspeakable things to him for putting up petty excuses in such a dire moment. Not getting his Lady's infinite clemency Haldir opened his mouth again, ready to explain *why* exactly his last visit to Éowyn's _talan _had almost scarred him for life. With innate nonchalance Galadriel raised her hand, and the light reflected off the magical Ring she was 'accidentally' pointing at the Guardian.

Before she could even blink, Haldir was halfway down the path towards Éowyn's _talan_.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, within the Orc's pack…

"&+%£-$£@#|*§?!" Screamed the Orc-chieftain, which in the Common tongue translates approximately as "What the Hell does it mean, LOST?!"

"(/&=^\$!" Replied calmly the Orc with the map, accompanying his words with a shrug. Several other Orcs made a grab for their Chieftain before he could lunge at the Orc-with-the-Map and slowly and painfully squeeze the life out of him. *he* was the Orc-with-the-Map after all… not to mention the only Orc that was just erudite enough to *read* the aforementioned Map.

Oblivious, the Orc-with-the-Map looked at the crossroad before him for a moment, his dark tongue peeking form between his lips in his concentration, and then brightened considerably. The Orc –chieftain watched warily on as the Orc-with-the-Map pointed in one direction with a cry of "£@^|£*%ì&!" (trans: Lothlórien!), thought better, and turned in the other direction, navigating through the trees and singing a merry tune to himself.

High above them, the massive Royal Eagle that had been following (unseen) the foul pack for the last five chapters (WOW!) had problems to keep flying straight as it watched the Orcs march speedily away from their destination.

* * * * *

"I hope you're joking." Elladan croaked out, a look of horror on his face. Éowyn smiled apologetically at him, shrugging her shoulders a little as if to communicate him just how sorry she was that it was no joke. The muscles of Elladan's throat worked soundly as he swallowed dry, not quite sure of what to do. Quickly he decided that, whatever his course of action would be, he would not look away from her. You never know, he could still wake spontaneously up from this nightmare, and he wanted to notice it as soon as possible so he didn't have to freak out longer than necessary.

Then Éowyn tipped her head to a side, her grin widening in a way that defied most physical laws, and his panic turned into naked terror.

"C'mon, El-hon…"

"Elladan."

"Whatever." She titled her head to the other side, sweeping her eyes all over him. "You Elves are all so incredibly *pretty*… especially you. Seriously. And especially with those flowers *I* (go me!) put in your hair. Now we just need one dress to accentuate your curves, one touch of make-up-" she tilted her head again, raising one hand to her chin "-and you'll become a really beautiful maiden! The most beautiful ever, if I can say so to my own creation."

To say that Elladan was not impressed by the compliments is an understatement. Éowyn could do little but chuckle softly at the look on his face. He really was adorable, with that aggrieved air about him! For a moment it looked like he couldn't decide between yelling angrily at her and blushing (after all, she had been telling him he was exceptionally pretty since they'd finished their dinner and had retreated in her _talan _hours before).

Then again, where's the need to decide when you can do both…?

"I'm *NOT* a *MAIDEN*!" Elladan yelled for the umpteenth time that night, a bright blush spreading across his pale features. Éowyn grinned at him, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

"Oh, come on! Think about it as an… experiment! Better yet, some kind of bet we're making! Where's your sense of adventure gone to, El?"

"Elladan. And it is safely tucked away in Rivendell where the most dangerous thing I do is to comment on Elrohir's hair in the morning before he's had a chance to brush and style it!"

"I can't believe it! Then what of your sister's happiness? *That*'s what this is all about!"

"No, this is about humiliating me!"

"I'm just asking you to dress up as a Maiden and go all over Boromir as to make Arwen jealous!" Éowyn was exasperated. Elladan was not far behind.

"NO WAY! If you're looking for a cross-dresser, you've picked the wrong Perendil!"

"You're heartle—uh?" Éowyn blinked rapidly, eyes going all huge. "You mean it runs in the family? Then why are you being this noisy?! Just put one gown of mine on and go throwing yourself at Boromir already!"

"Make me." The Elf dared, arms folded across his chest and his chin held up proudly. Éowyn looked at him no different than a snake seizing a prey.

"If you want to be *this* difficult…" she began, rolling up her sleeves. Elladan silently cursed his mouth.

Before he could ever look around for a way out she pounced, sending them both sprawled on the floor in a tangled heap, and began tugging at his clothes.

"Éowyn! Damn it! Stop!"

"Off with the shirt! Off I say!"

"Have you no shame…?!"

"I'm divesting the prettiest Elf ever of his clothing. Remind me what's shameful in this?"

"Do you want a list?"

"Agh! Gotcha!" she threw the shirt behind her shoulders, almost chuckling at the astonished look Elladan sent at the flying garment and then at her. Her grin became feral. "Now, the leggings."

"Don't you *dare*!" they began wrestling for the laces of Elladan's leggings, rolling across the floor.

It was like this that Haldir found them.

Imagine his reaction.

Suffice to say that his scream made Elladan and Éowyn both freeze and look up in mixed surprise and fear, with the fake _Aurêl_ still laying on top of the Rivendell Elf with her hands on his hips.

"Ergh---Ella-uhm,Éowy—err, Milady _Aurêl-_uhm_, _young Lord- I mean, uhhh…I didn't want to… uhh… I mean, I wanted to say, I mean, I was here because, I mean, I was sent by…" He continued stammering on for several minutes. Then he gave up and simply told them that –due of Orcs- they had to gather in front of the Black Gate and there await further instructions. Period.

Their quarrel forgotten Elladan and Éowyn scampered to their feet, looking for Elladan's lost shirt.

On his way out, Haldir stopped and asked the couple with flat eyes if there was one special gift they wanted for the wedding, and that only a Guardian of Lórien could find them. Elladan was proud to say he resisted the urge to propel Haldir against a tree, sensing that the subsequent thump would surely attract some unwanted attention, maybe even the Orcs'.

Yet, he was even prouder to say that, when Haldir left, it was amidst one remarkable rain of furniture that Éowyn threw at the retreating Guardian with almost-Elven strength and speed. Once that the blonde Guardian was out of sight Elladan and Éowyn high-fived each other, before hurrying to find the still missing shirt.

* * * * *

Haldir distinctly thought that there should be one division of Elves who get paid to wake up lovers at the crack of day and watch them as they pranced naked around the room in their quest for clothes, not quite managing to get theirs hands off each other and yet glaring murderously at he who dared to disturb them.

At first, while shuffling towards their _talan_, Haldir had hoped he would find Aragorn and Legolas in a position that wasn't too traumatic for him too see - after all, he still had to recover from what he saw in Éowyn's _talan. _

No such luck.

But it was okay, in a way - he'd always known himself to be a tad too hopeful.

When he'd peeked inside the _talan _Haldir had found the two lying together on a crumpled quilt, hugging each other tenderly and sharing chaste kisses and whispered words of love.

"That was the first time for you as well, wasn't it?" Legolas was saying, and then Aragorn had turned away, face flushed, staring at anything but his lover.

While it was most natural for an Elf not to experience the pleasures of the body until he met the true holder of his heart (especially if said Elf is noble, thus requested not to spend time with commoners, and has a very protective Father; not to mention two very protective brothers and one very, incredibly and exceedingly protective personal Guard), Aragorn felt somewhat ashamed that he, a human, had never made love in his long 20 and more years (a.n. yes, I made him way younger that he's in the books or movies… he has more time to spend with Legolas this way…). Anyway, any embarrassment he may have felt melted like snow when Legolas leaned over, and whispered against his ear, his voice soft like butterfly wings. "I'm glad. Because now, wherever life may bring us, I'll have a special place in your heart – as you have in mine, _meleth_."

Then they'd kissed, softly, thoroughly, the natural glow of Legolas's elven skin spreading out to infuse them both in a soft silvery light.

That would have been enough to send Haldir kneeling on the floor (or rather stumble down the rope-ladder to the floor) in a fit of "awwwwww". But then they had moved, the flimsy sheet sliding to reveal naked, flushed skin, and their hands had started roaming in places Haldir really didn't want too see. Yelping, the shocked Guardian had then proceeded to stumble unceremoniously into the _talan, _gaining one deadly glare from Aragorn, and none other than his best and most scary "you_have_3_seconds_to_be_gone" look from Legolas.

Since apologizing on his knees for the intrusion didn't seem the right reaction, Haldir had done the next best thing, and, clamping his hands safely against his eyes, he'd told them what was going on in the Golden Woods as Their Oblivious Majesties cuddled.

"Orcs have managed to break into Lórien… for your safety, the Lady invites you to leave as soon as you hear this message. Also, she suggests you to go through the underground route to Edoras, the ruined Capital of Rohan, and from there steer towards Gondor. She awaits you at the Black Gate, the only entrance to this secret route." Haldir then waited one moment before peering at the couple between his parted fingers, *hoping* the two would heed him and rush to the gathering.

Again, no such luck.

Hell, being so hopeful really sucked sometimes.

In their defence we must admit that Aragorn and Legolas *did* try to dress up quickly… but they couldn't really be separated for more than 0,0000001 nanoseconds that they would have this sudden need to share a caress or a kiss, looking like they'd die if they didn't.

That had lead Haldir to the terrible conclusion that, unless he stayed there to prevent it, their cuddling would escalate into something that would make them late. And Galadriel *hated* when the people she summoned were late. Not to mention that terrible habit of hers to lash out at *him* whenever the people he'd summoned for her were late.

Summarily, those were the reasons why Haldir was waiting on the couple at the entrance of the _talan,_ with his hands still placed firmly on his face. He just peered at the couple between his fingers each time the noise of dressing ceased – or worst yet was replaced by smooching noises and small moans – and promptly shutting his eyes again, he reminded them to be quick.

_Seriously, _he found himself thinking when he got a glance of Aragorn and Legolas rubbing their noses together cutely, _I should really convince the Lady Galadriel to find people to handle this sort of things. I doubt I'm paid enough to endure such shocks. _

_… _

_… _

_… _

_…paid…? _

_Now that's an idea…_

* * * * *

Waking up the Hobbits was a less traumatic experience– but way more difficult. The Hobbits were all experiencing one painful hang-over and weren't even capable to be remotely aware. Only Sam, being the far-sighted Hobbit that he was, had not gotten drunk the night before and could now support himself on his own legs. However, even with his help it was a slow and painful operation to wake up –well, at least relatively- the Hobbits and walk them to the gathering – or, in Pippin's case, *_roll his sleeping form downhill*_ to the gathering.

How very ungrateful to have a major crisis in such a moment of panic like that.

Relatively speaking, the easiest to drag to the gathering was Lascaran – especially because the Lórien Elves thought it unwise to let him follow the Fellowship, and tried with all their might to leave him behind. Result? They found him perched atop one small boulder in front of the Black Gate, dressed in one tiny military uniform and tapping one minute feet warningly. And he was even the first to arrive…!!

Boromir had been packing since dawn, and emerged from the _mallorn _trees with bags hanging from his shoulders, arms and hands as though he was a Christmas Tree. Gandalf just appeared as if from thin air, looking relaxed and refreshed as though he'd just spent some hours in a still-to-be-invented Jacuzzi bath.

Either way, once they were all there (some relatively conscious, some less so) it was easy to see that only Arwen was missing. It troubled Boromir beyond words (even though he tried not to fidget too evidently), and he almost sagged on the ground in relief when she came running out from the forest, flinging herself into his arms, and apologized to her companions with a smile.

Even as he blushed, stuttered, trembled and tried to tame both the butterflies in his stomach and the snickers of his friends, Boromir was slightly taken aback by her appearance - even though he said nothing about it. She had shed the lovely gown from the night before and wore now an Amazon attire not unlike the one from the previous part of the journey. It differed from that for the colours: pale green and silver instead than lilac and blue. Her usually unbound hair was held in one long braid that hung from her shoulder, and Boromir was surprised to see filaments of gold shine amidst her dark mane – if anyone was to see her, they would mistake Arwen for an warrior-maiden from Mirkwood instead than a Lady of Rivendell.

He was distracted from that train of thought when he heard Elrohir and Elladan –with Éowyn whining in the background- shout and whistle cheerfully. Turning a little wonderingly, Boromir couldn't help but beam at the sight presented to his eyes.

A rather worried (read: distinctly panicked) Legolas had buried himself into Aragorn's welcoming arms, and the Man was whispering reassuringly into his Elf's ear, caressing his fair head and generally doing his best to ease his worries about the Orcs and the underground route (_"But, Aragorn… it's *dark* down there!" "Aren't Love Tunnels in the Luna Parks also?!" "…what…?" "…never mind."). A_nd to think that, when they had first met, those two would do nothing but bicker… If he had ever been sure of something before, Boromir was now sure beyond words that that arranged wedding was truly a gift – not only it would lead their World closer to a much-awaited peace, but it had blessed his best friend and only Prince with true Love and Happiness.

It was exactly in that moment that it occurred to him that Estel and Legolas still didn't know *exactly* who they were marrying once they got in Gondor. Now that he thought about it, the last few weeks of blissful love must have been pretty hard for them… they'd found love and happiness, and were sure they would have to surrender it soon for the greater good. (because he *KNEW* each of them was just TOO PROUD to tell the other or his identity; for not only they risked to give the Orcs another reason to pursue the Company if they spoke… they could make a fool of themselves as well!)

Throwing carefulness in the bushes, Boromir opened his mouth to tell them the whole, naked truth (hoping it would be easier this time, to make Aragorn realize that his spouse was Legolas) when Elrohir and Elladan began to chant their usual "Kiss him, Aragorn! Kiss him! Kiss him! We know you want to!!".

To everyone's surprise, Aragorn did just that.

Grinning like a madman he tipped Legolas's head slightly back and kissed him fully, the Elf's lips parting submissively, their tongues clashing inside his sweet mouths as Legolas arched, pressing himself flat against the Man, fingers twining in the dark hair he'd admired for so long. When they parted, breathless and flushed, it amused them to see the rest of the Fellowship pick themselves up cautiously, some pinching their cheeks, some mouthing like fishes on dry land and one pinning another to the ground to prevent her from getting Aragorn's head (guess who!)

"A-A-Aragorn, what did you just do?" Elrohir said in shock, his left eyebrow twitching and his hand reaching mechanically to drop some gold into Gandalf's open palm.

"You asked me to kiss him, so I did; although, I don't really need a reason to kiss my fiancé," he replied calmly, amused to feel Legolas's cheek heat up against the naked skin of his neck. After one moment of ominous silence there was a cry of "YOUR WHAT?" that echoed through the whole forest, making most of its habitants clamp their hands against their ears. Aragorn wordlessly took Legolas's hand and showed them all the ring of Barahir he'd given the Elf as a token of undying love.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Boromir murmured, hands joined and eyes pointed skywards. Unconsciously he held Arwen to him and began to spin her around happily. They had finally told each other of their true identities and were going to get married! They had finally confessed! They—

"I won't marry for duty." Aragorn kept on in the same calm, even tone. "Not now that I have Legolas. We're going to be together."

Feeling his energy drain from her Boromir released Arwen and flopped back on the grassy ground with a groan and a whimper, with Arwen falling to her knees right next to him.

Yeee! His headache was back! Boromir was almost starting to miss it. He would have thrown a 'welcome back party', hadn't he been so busy massaging his throbbing temples. Why, he could already picture it, when he broke the news to Denethor.

Yes father, I too am happy to be back. No father, I did bring the Prince back with me but he's kinda reticent to marry. Yes father, I know it was his idea, but he really doesn't want to pledge himself to Prince Legolas. Actually, I'm here to ask your help to break off their engagement. Why? Well, because he wants to marry Legolas and not the Prince. No, I have not hit my head anywhere in the recent past, why?

After another moment stunned silence, they all turned towards Éowyn, expecting to see her leap at the Man's throat, or at most to see her still pinned to the floor under Elladan's weight. Well, it was to their eternal astonishment that they saw an incensed *Elladan* being pinned to the floor under *Éowyn*'s weight, while she whispered soothingly in his ear.

"It's quite all right! I don't mind this, really…! They're cute together… all that counts his Legolas's happiness… El, please!"

"He can't decide such a thing without asking you—I mean, his fiancée!! And it's Elladan!"

"They'll talk about it, later!"

"But it's not fair! He should have asked you-her! He can't go and break hearts like that!"

"But if you said his fiancée couldn't even stand him!"

"That's beyond the point!"

"Elladan, please!"

"It's El!" Beat. "I mean…" Éowyn's smirk was so bright they would have no problems to walk the darkness of the underground route as long as it lasted.

"Caught." Elladan dropped his head on the grass with a groan. Great! Just the last thing he needed right now.

Elrohir shrugged at his twin's antics, and eyed Aragorn and Legolas from head to toe, his happiness for his cousin clear in his eyes.

"Good catch, Aragorn." he jibed. Laughing, Aragorn pulled Legolas closer to him, feeling the Elf lean on his shoulder.

"I love you," he murmured into Legolas's blonde hair. Legolas smiled lovingly at him and tipped his head to kiss the Man's chin. 

The faint echo of pop love songs could still be heard coming from the riverbanks (whatever that potion in the cookies was, Gandalf had made it just a tad too effective…), and it was with than unusual BG that Galadriel made her appearance, Celeborn trailing sleepily behind her. She eyed the Fellowship slowly, nodding briskly at Arwen and then closing her eyes.

"It seems that the Orcs have… momentarily retreated from the City." She began, shaking her head slightly. She knew that Orcs' intelligence went as far as a human could throw an Olyphant, but turn left instead than right at a crossroad and get lost in the woods even as they had a map… that was downright ridiculous!

The Lady shook her head clear, focusing back on her audience and smiling brilliantly for it.

"It's not safe for you to walk the Golden Woods at this time, for they're swarming with Orcs. We can do naught but open the Black Gate, and let you into the underground route – the only safe way remained to leave or reach Lórien."

"Underground route?" Éowyn dared to ask, shifting her weight slightly as to find a more comfortable position. Please note that she was still sprawled upon Elladan's prone form, but she had her chin propped on her cupped hands, her elbows digging into the elf's back. She looked like she just needed some backrub and one bowl of pastries to be in 7th Heaven.

Galadriel turned toward the fake Elf, and her eyes glinted with kindness.

"Centuries ago, the brave Dwarves that excavated the tunnel between Lothlórien and Morfëataur began to work on their greatest dream – one dream that caused them to lost first their health and then their life. They wished to link all the major strongholds of the Free People with underground tunnels – Lothlórien, Mirkwood, the City of Edoras in Rohan and Minas Tirith in Gondor- and so began to dig, deeper and farther into the ground. However, they soon understood it would be unwise to complete the underground net, for, if the Enemy ever took over one of those posts, then he would have one open way to all the others." Nods and agreeing whispers from the audience. Even Celeborn nodded… but that's because he was falling asleep again. Sigh. How he missed his bed. He would be sleeping peacefully, blissfully tucked under some smooth and warm covers now, hadn't Galadriel taken his teddy bear in hostage.

"Greatly it pained them to cease their mining work, for years and lives had been shed and one tunnel already finished." Continued Galadriel. "But it was for the greater good that that tunnel was sealed with both gates and magic, and then forgotten. And this one tunnel you're about to walk. Behind the Black Gates, through darkness and fear, it will lead you to the ruined Capital of Rohan… it will lead you to Edoras."

"Edoras…" Éowyn whispered softly. Edoras! Home! Her home! Her home! Overjoyed she swooped, flinging her arms around Elladan's neck and squeezing *tightly*, almost chocking the poor thing as a result.

Galadriel nodded again, wondering in a far corner of her mind how come a male Elf with the strength of at least five mortals could be overpowered so easily by a young maiden. Shrugging, she glanced at Arwen again, lowering her lids some.

"What awaits you in the depths, even the wisest can not know for sure. Unfathomable dangers await for you in darkness, yes. And creatures that never sleep will watch your every move. But do never lose hope! Perilous indeed will be your journey from now on, and hope will be your only strength. Let hope and love guide you back into the Light." She paused, staring one moment more into Arwen's eyes, then gestured to Rúmil and Orophin to open the Black gate and hand the Fellowship some torches and the bags she'd readied for them. "_Namarië*_."

With an ominous clangour the Black Gate opened before them like a beast's mouth, exhaling putrid fumes. The members of the Fellowship stepped carefully inside, huddled together as to gain some strength from their closeness. Then the Gate closed behind them.

BOOM!

The seals were put back into place, iron bars and locks and spells.

CLANG!

The Fellowship of the Star was left alone in the Dark.

**TBC **

_Namarië_*= Farewell

**I'm not 100% satisfied with this one chapter, but it's still cute I think. I hope you think so, too! =) **

**I've yet to decide what kind of foes they'll meet in the Dark… another Watcher, Orcs, Uruk-hai, Spiders, maybe even Gollum… I really can't choose. o.O;; **


	20. Chapter 20

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 20 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Also, there's some Arwen/Boromir romance. And by now it's almost impossible to deny the attraction between Elladan and Éowyn. =) _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note:_**_ Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all who reviewed! I'm sorry if I never answer to each review personally, but please know that they really make my day! They prompt me to do my best, and help me improve! You're really wonderful, all of you, and I'm grateful for all the ideas you gave me! *bows* I tried to use them all. =) _

_In this chapter the Fellowship meet Gollum; someone (not Legolas… ;_; ) gets scarred for life by Spiders, and Elladan manages to remind Éowyn that 'it's Elladan' one last time! Shelob will hopefully appear in the next chapter. Again, I hope you'll like it. =) _

**_Note 2: _**_This goes out un-betaed, I'm sorry for the mistakes you may find… _

**_Rating:_**_ R  
  
_

* * * * *

"Remind me why we're here again?"

Merry couldn't really say he wasn't expecting the question… it's been asked to him every couple of minutes since they had gone through the Dark Gates, after all. Still, it took him several seconds to answer it. Mostly because it wasn't easy to tame the urge to smack his cousin silly.

Merry counted up to ten in his head, then did it again – just to be sure. Then, peeking up from behind his ever-present –and massively heavy- book, he proceeded to give Pippin the same answer he'd got for the last several days.

"Because, *Lórien* was under attack, *we* wouldn't be able to hold a weapon even if lunch depended on it, and *so* Lady *Galadriel* thought it better to send us away from *danger*."

"And into a dark and smelly tunnel?" Pippin replied, wiping yet another spider-web from his hair.

"Better than one pack of Orcs, I reckon." Sam piped up, fishing for something in one of the bags the Lady of the Golden Woods had readied for them. "It's not like we aren't accustomed to darkness and tunnels, if you see what I mean. Most of the tunnels of our Headquarters back in Morfëataur aren't much better than this one. I'd rather walk this one tunnel, dark and smelly but with a dead flat floor and a ceiling high enough not to bump our heads, than most of those that are back hom--Ah! Found it!" Sam pulled out a small sack from the impressive huge bag. Inside was several _Lembas_, Elven cakes that restored both body and spirit. Quickly he grabbed some and split them in half, offering the pieces around. Most of his companions dived on the cakes gratefully, being fairly famished after the long, straining march. Frodo bit unto his half thoughtfully, squinting his eyes to see something in the darkness.

The Hobbits, Aragorn, Legolas, Lascaran and Gandalf were all huddled around the small campfire they'd built, with Arwen polishing her daggers intently not too far away. Elladan and Elrohir had gone scouting quite some time ago, and Boromir had thought it best to follow, knowing that the twins couldn't really stay away from troubles for more than one handful of minutes. Why Éowyn was with them as well was another matter altogether.

Since they entered the underground route she had all but glued herself to Elladan, and when he'd stood up to go scouting, she had attached herself to his legs, whimpering about the darkness in a way they would have expected Legolas to do. Try as they might, they couldn't pry her away. In the end, after a good dose of prompting, whistles and wiggled eyebrows, Elladan had just hauled her to her feet, clasped his hand firmly around hers and –with a sigh- dived into the darkness, Elrohir in tow and Boromir just behind.

They hadn't come back yet, and thought it wasn't long enough to start worrying, Frodo felt a distinct lump in his throat and a weight on his chest. Considering it had passed long days since he'd gotten drunk in Lórien, long hours since he'd eaten something and loooooooooooooong minutes since Sam had moved from their (_brotherly, only brotherly!) _embrace (_meant for comfort… and maybe some warmth… really… just that…), _there was only one way to explain those puzzling sensations.

Something was out there, watching them… and, whatever it was, it didn't like them in the slightest.

Frodo couldn't help it – he began chewing worriedly on his nails, scanning the surrounding darkness with wide eyes. When long moments of search proved nothing other than Hobbit eyes weren't as good in the dark as could have been –say- Elves', Frodo forced himself to focus on his companions. He gazed on unseeingly as Pippin grabbed what should have been his tenth half-lembas.

For the longest moment the younger Hobbit did nothing but stare at the cake, expression sullen. Then Lascaran crawled out from his pocket, all dressed in black – as to blend with the darkness and result invisible. Slowly, it crept worm-like across Pippin's _white_ shirt and towards his hand. Once in position, the Squirrel made a dive for the cake, but unfortunately for him Pippin noticed him, send the little thief flying across the tunnel and against a wall, before pursing his bottom lip out at Sam as nothing had happened.

"But… there are *spiders* here, Sam! Ugly little things, with all those furry legs, and those lidless eyes!"

Albeit muffled by Aragorn's shoulder, the sound of Legolas's laugh was still clear and lovely. It -like it did back in Morfëataur- enchanted all the Hobbits, so that they all gave one wistful, breathless sigh. Even Frodo was able to see some hope again, and smiled, albeit it was difficult to say in the scarce light.

"Spiders, Pip?" Said the blonde Elf, shuffling a bit to cast a glance at the Hobbit. "You must see the spiders we have in Mirkwood! They're bigger than you, my friend. And dare I say it, even their appetite is bigger than yours!"

Currently, Legolas was perched comfortably within Aragorn's strong arms, sitting sideways between his bent legs, with his cheek placed over the Man's beating heart. Said Man did not like it in the slightest when the Elf made as if to squirm out of his arms to talk with Pippin; therefore he promptly held the Elf to him, helping him turning so that his back was against the Man's chest. Then, bending his head until the two of them were cheek-to-cheek, Aragorn gave a contented sigh. Almost on its own volition, his hand slid down to Legolas's own and stroked the ring of Barahir softly, as if to make sure he'd not just dreamed giving it to the Elf.

"An appetite bigger than---?! What are they, *monsters*?" Pippin shrieked, quickly shoving into his mouth five or six lembas, unwrapping them just barely before swallowing them whole. He looked about, almost expecting to see hordes of Giant Spiders crawl toward him with forks and knifes in hand – well, leg- and white napkins around their necks – if the had necks. Honestly, he saw nothing and no one, but you may never know… even if he didn't saw them, those blasted Spiders could still be around, aiming for his food… better be sure to hide it all.

With a battle cry he dived head-first onto the closest bag, crying out in aguish when Merry and Sam went to the food's aid, holding him back as Lascaran – who was still annoyed at the whole plunge-the-poor-Squirrel-against-a-wall episode – hastily attached himself to one of Pippin's flaying hands, sinking his sharp little teeth into the Hobbit's thumb. The consequent yelp and jump sent the Squirrel rolling across the camp and against the same wall as before, so that a new bruise stood out now proudly from his head. 

Aragorn barely suppressed an amused laugh when Pippin scrambled to his feet to chase Lascaran in circles around the camp. In fact he gave them only two seconds of his time before he went back to his favourite pastime, and began nuzzling the white, long neck of the Elf in his arms.

"Spiders, love?" he asked.

"Hm-hm. And pretty huge, too. And venomous… or at least most of them are."

"Do they scare you?"

"…no, not really." Legolas said after one moment to consider. "I admit I'm not fond of those creatures, but I can handle them better than I do darkness."

"Hmmm… that's a shame." Aragorn rumbled, lips still moving back and forth against Legolas's sweet, pale skin.

"H-How so?" Legolas asked, trying hard to keep his heartbeat at a resemblance of normality.

"It's just that, if you don't fear them…" the Man said huskily, "I can't expect you to throw yourself at me each time we see one… or can I?" Legolas chuckled, then stiffened when Aragorn started to nibble gently the point of his ear. Ignoring the comments thrown at them about 'going to get a room' Legolas answered him, a little breathlessly:

"As… aah… tempting as it sounds, I can't really do that."

"Why?" It's astonishing how, when discontent, Aragorn morphed from a proud and fearless man into a sulking kid in the blink of an eye.

"Well, it's a matter of pride. I can't really show fear, fake or real, in front of a Spider. Everyone in Mirkwood is trained to handle those creatures since childhood. After all it's simple… with most of them, the trick is scratch their bellies, or that spot just behind the head – it always works. Coming to think bout it, there's but one person in the whole Mirkwood that has a terrible case of arachnophobia--" Legolas's words were interrupted by a ominous, piercing scream, that was along the lines of a resounding:

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Followed by a blurred form dive-bombing into the camp, behind Arwen, and under one pile of blankets in only one fluid and incredibly quick motion. Legolas grinned apologetically up at his love, and shrugged.

"—guess who?"

"Éowyn?" Arwen said softly. Knives forgotten, she turned to the shivering heap of blankets at her side. "Are you all right?"  
From underneath the pile came a small, scared voice. "S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-spider!"

"Éowyn, you're safe here." Arwen began to caress the shivering bundle, and her voice was gentle and soft. She was rewarded when the lump underneath the blankets shifted a bit, and one wide blue eye peeked up at her.

"I hate spiders…" Éowyn said quietly. Arwen smiled, offering the other woman a hand to hold on to. When Éowyn grabbed it and squeezed tight, Arwen thought she distinctly heard the noise of bones crackling. Thanking the Valar, Elves' capacity to heal is truly remarkable.

"And they hate fire. They won't come anywhere near the camp." Arwen managed, trying hard not to let the pain in her hand show on her face.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

With that, Arwen proceeded to gently remove the blanket from Éowyn's shivering form…

…only to have her jaw drop to the ground when she saw a slightly grey-faced Elladan lie under Éowyn and with his neck squeezed in-between her arms.

Arwen blinked.

Éowyn blinked.

The Fellowship blinked.

Boromir and Elrohir, jagging into the camp, stopped short of the trio and blinked.

Elladan gasped for air.

"É…o…wyn…!"

"Oh my gosh! El-hon!" she hurriedly moved away from him, helping him to sit up and checking if he breathed correctly… only to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze the air out of him *again* when she saw he was all right. "Oh, I'm so sorry, El!"

"Ell—ghh---adan!" Elladan dodged Éowyn's fist with practiced skill.

"No, *way*! Everyone heard you tell me to call you El!" the Elf massaged his throat sulkily. He wasn't really looking forward to another "you cheated me into that", "who cares, you still said it" –session, so he just folded his arms over his chest, leaned back, and gave Éowyn a sulky "Hmph". She grinned impishly at him and patted his head.

"That's my El."

"What exactly happened back there, that explains why you flung yourself at me, almost strangling me, and then dragged me back here?"

"There was a Spider…"

"*What*?" The one on Éowyn's face was far too cute a blush. Elladan tried to keep on glaring, but just then one pack of passing-by butterflies decided that the insides of stomach would be quite a nice home, and wouldn't stop fluttering around madly as they arranged their belongings.

So much for trying - his glare faded like snow under the sun.

"I… don't like spiders…" Éowyn said meekly, lowering her head and glancing up at Elladan through her lashes. Her blush reached the tips of her ears in no time, no time at all. "Not since one as big as my whole self, all black and flurry and sticky, decided it would be fun to jump into my cradle and on my face, when I was a babe."

"*Ouch*."

"Exactly my point."

Insert a moment of sympathetic silence here.

Now, imagine that Elladan broke the aforementioned silence with one of his well-practiced 'big sighs', opening his arms to Éowyn.

Next imagine her dive-bombing into the offered embrace… yup, exactly like that.

At this point picture Elladan's arms closing about her, his hands sliding comfortingly down her hair…

It goes unsaid that it took only one couple of seconds for the 'sympathetic' silence to turn into a more 'I'm amazed, I'm curious, I'm not sure when they became an item – should I ask?' one.

Now you know why Elladan immediately released Éowyn, sprang up to his feet and dashed to a shadowed corner to check the supplies of water, inanely hoping his blush wasn't making him shine neon in the darkness. =)

Most of the others began looking back and forth from an embarrassed Elladan to a slightly confused Éowyn. Frodo didn't. He was still chewing on his nails. Actually, as giggles and whispers rose from the Company, he attacked his left hand, having already gobbled up all the nails in the right one.

"Something is watching us," he blurted out at last, clamping both hands against his mouth immediately after. Glancing at his companions, he regretted opening his mouth at all. The others had all grown tense, like cats on a hot tin roof, and were looking about in the looming darkness, their weapons at the ready. 

Slowly, when it seemed that all the members of the Fellowship had decided nothing was about to pounce at them from the shadows, Gandalf pulled his pipe from his lips and puffed out some spider-shaped smoke rings. 

"Oh, so you noticed it, too."

* * * * *

Okay, it was simple. He'd done it before. Several times. First one hand, then the other. Right foot up, left down. Okay. He was doing it. He conceded that walking in the dark wasn't easy, but –uh- he was managing just well, wasn't he? He hadn't been swallowed whole in any chasm, nor had he accidentally walked over some foul creature's tail. And so far, he hadn't even—

*BANG*

--collided with a wall. Great.

He raised one slimy hand to rub his offended forehead and used the other to feel the ground before him. Wall. Wall. Wall. Boulder. Wall. Wall. Tunnel! Found it! Eagerly, he dived onto the tunnel, mentally giving himself a hand-shake. Ah, you're sssso sssmart, preciousssss!

Right. Left. Right. Left. Alert! Giant Spider droppings at 12.00. Jump it. Good. Now go right. Left. Left. Left again. Up. Down. Mind the wall. Up. Up. Up. Get into the huge grotto from which start many tunnels. Good. Now, it's easy from here – just follow that faint light down there and this smell of ex-animal spiced, trimmed, roasted and charred, complete with a sub-smell of something that could most probably be vegetables -potatoes?- on the side.

…

… …

… … …hold everything!

Ex-animal? Meat? Roasted and *with* potatoes?! In other words, FOOD?! F_O_O_D???

Calm down. Calm down. Think. It must be a trap. It just *must* - uh, yeah. Sure. Can't go throwing yourself head-first on the food. Yeah. Can't. Must be a trap. Hm-hm. Probably it's poisoned, anyway.

…

…

…

…uhm… nope, doesn't taste like it's been poisoned. Does it?

"GET HIM!"

All of a sudden a net of elvish rope covered on him, and the harder he struggled, the more tangled he got in the damned thing.

*Told* you it was a trap. Uhm, well, but the food was so delicious… Right.

"I didn't think it would be so easy to catch him." Stop pocking precious with that staff, Whitebeard! Precious fragile! Precious side hurts!

"Ah! Got you, you sneaky, little thing! Now confess! What are you and what were you doing, limping into the camp like that?"

"It burns… It burns us! Take it off?" replied he, stretching his arms as far as he could toward the scary woman towering above him, fluttering his eyelashes at her. Uh, wait, that glimmering in her grin were canines, or what? Scaaaaaary… Time for drastic measures here, he decided.

That's why he began wailing.

Long.

And loud.

Hear-splitting, to be precise.

"Oh, shut up! Every foul creature in miles will hear this racket!" roared the blonde woman.

"I suggest we tie him, gag him and leave him here." Said the whitebeard. The use of the magic words stopped the wail – it was as thought it had never existed, so deep was the silence.

"That… that will kill us… kill us…!" He smiled goofily this time, hoping that picturing one bight halo over his head would make it appear and him look like a innocent, blameless, innocuous, lost little creature.

…

…he was so *not* any of the above... Wait, wasn't that a pitiful look, from that little creature with big blue eyes? Okay, this could prove useful. Keep smiling. Ugh – my mouth hurts. Keep smiling, I said!! How--? Long enough to find a way out, at least. Great. Do you realize how pissed off *she* will be if we're late for dinner?

"I say we should eat him, like he ate our last meat." This. Woman. Scares. The. Hell. Out. Of. Us.

Period.

Ehm… heeeeeeeeeeee~eeeeeelp? Anyone??

"Oh, I can't believe you! Gandalf! Éowyn! How can you enjoy torturing this poor creature?" Suddenly, he was free, and nestled in the arms of a cute –check that, EXPLOSIVE- blonde Elf. It was so… nice. Warm. Precious felt safe. He could easily get used to those arms around him. Hm. Hm.

"Legolas! That ugly thing was spying on us!" Valar! He was right! That woman *did* have sharp canines!! ...Or it was just a trick of the scarce light? Better be sure and put some distance between us and her. Right.

With a very un-lady like growl, Éowyn trekked forward, baring her teeth at the skinny, slimy little thing that was seemingly trying to fuse with Legolas, pressing himself to the Elf like that.

"This *cute* *little* *creature*," Legolas remarked, cupping the back of the shivering creature's head protectively, "Was just famished. Can you really blame him for jumping and the only available food he could possible find down here?" The creature on his lap shivered harder, remembering suddenly all his hunger, and Legolas looked down at him. The Elf's eyes were deep and kind, and almost shining in the dark. The little creature smiled goofily up at him. So nicccccccccce that Elf was. Yes. Nice nice.

"What's wrong?" Oh… what a silky smooth voice! Nice! "Poor thing… I know Éowyn may look scary, but don't worry: she would never hurt anyone – unless it's Elladan, of course." Elladan snorted in assent from his shadowed corner.

He dodged Éowyn's punch only by sheer luck.

The creature one Legolas's lap nodded. Even the Elf's hands were smooth and kind. Precious liked how they patted his head affectionately. "What's your name? You can talk, can't you? I'm Legolas."

"Ooooh… precious! Yessss! Precious! _Gollum! Gollum!_" Oooh… and listen to the Elf's laugh… like shiny rivers coursing on fresh mountain tops, it was.

"Is it Precious? Or is it Gollum?"

"Gollum! Gollum!"

"Gollum it will be, then." Legolas smiled, and Gollum went all goofy and dazed again. The blissful look on his round face was disturbingly similar to those that always, *always*, appeared on Aragorn's own face whenever Legolas touched him. However, a spare glance at the aforementioned man's face would reveal none of that bliss, goofiness or dizziness. He looked like he couldn't decided between one look of naked jealousy and one of his trademark childish pouts.

Just to be sure, he wore both.

Gandalf threw a sympathetic glance at the Man. This time the Wizard*did* puff out from his smoke a miniature of Legolas that (once Gandalf had put the final touch and covered it with smoke-jewels and VERY revealing smoke-clothes) swayed sensually towards Aragorn.

Not that the Man noticed.

How could he, while the real Legolas was inches from him, fondling that little creature like that? Ai, how he longed to be skinny, huge-eyed and in Legolas's lap, right then…

"Niiiiiiiice!" Gollum purred loudly as Legolas patted his head. Then he smiled sleepily, before turning to one side, rewarding Legolas with an even louder purr when the Elf scratched him just in the right place behind the ears. "Nice!"

There was a moment of silence. Then, Pippin looked up from the last remains of their dinner, bottom lip quivering and face painted with sorrow. Lascaran was standing at a respectful distance from the Hobbit, his hat in his tiny hands, and sombrely threw a flower over the food scattered all over the dirty floor.

"That was our last meat *and* potatoes!" The Hobbit hollered, teary-eyed. "What do we do, now?"

"We can survive of just _lembas_. Only one bit of those cakes gives enough energy to walk for days. And we've bags upon bags filled with _lembas_." Elrohir reminded with a shrug, still bent forward to catch a good look of Gollum's face. No luck. Pippin sniffled.

"No, we can't! Not us Hobbits! Not me! And we have so few _lembas _left_…_ they will never be enough!" He knew *he* had eaten them all, but… but… it was Lascaran's fault! (He'd picked up this strange habit of blaming everything that went wrong on the little thing. Maybe it was somehow correlated to the fact that it was the first time he met someone younger and smaller than he was?)

Rubbing at his eyes harshly, Pippin threw an angry glance at Lascarn, who had –strangely enough- reached the safety of Legolas's arms and was wrestling with Gollum for the right to be there. It wasn't so much of a smart thing to do to stay away from Pippin when he was in one of his "it's all Lascarn's fault"-phases. The Hobbit was known to use torture to prove his point – like tickle Lascaran to tears, lock him into one bag, famish him…

"Oh, surely you can resist eating just _lembas _for a few days. Can't you?" Legolas said softly, picking Lascarn up and dropping the little thing into his pocket. Safety! At last! "The question is, how many of them are left?" Pippin counted quickly in his mind for some minutes, his companions' hopes raising with each nod of his head.

Needless to say, their hopes all crumbled down like castles of sand when he finally spoke.

"Approximately… uhm… two." He said, trying to look guilty and adorable. It wasn't a fair fight since he *was* guilty and adorable, but he got some murderous glares anyway. Legolas just blinked.

"Then we're dead." He said, composure personified.

"*Two*?! Two l_embas_ for –how much?" Elrohir exploded, his quest to see Gollum's face momentarily forgotten. "How long it is before we get out of here? We don't know the way, nor can we risk using much light to scout around! We've been inside here for days and managed to get lost countless times! How will we ever --?!" He trailed off, dropping onto the ground with his head in his hands. "Great. Just what I always dreamed – die in a smelly tunnel with my hair and clothes all messy and spotted!"

"As if someone will ever find us and *notice* that you have *one* tangle!" Came from somewhere within the Company. It could have been Éowyn, seeing the way how Elladan was clamping her mouth shut, while trying to make her disappear behind his (slightly) larger frame.

Wait, was that a blush on his face? Remember me to investigate on it later.

Another moment of silence followed (we've full of those, today), until Gollum pawed at Legolas chest, like a cat demanding attention.

"Gollum guides you. Yes-yes, he does."

"Do you know the way to the surface?"

"Yes." Some enthusiastic nodding.

"You've seen the city of Edoras?"

"The ruins? Yes! Yes! The shiny ruins under the yellow eye! Gollum gollum!"

"And you could get us out in a few days?"

"Hours! Gollum! Hours!" Legolas seemed to consider this a little, then, nodding, moved his arms from around Gollum. (much to Gollum's eternal displeasure and Aragorn's relief)

"Then lead us to Edoras, Gollum. Please."

* * * * *

The following hours of journey were terrible.

No, no, it's not like they were attacked, wounded, or got lost. Nothing of that sort… It's just that… It wasn't easy to follow someone that barely reached your knee in the thickest dark. Especially since said someone hopped, skipped and bounded around, going back and forth along the same tunnels over and over without apparent reason, all the while singing in a voice that would make dead birds drop from the trees, had they been on the surface.

It was headache-inducing, to be mild about it.

Actually, Boromir's supplies of _athleas _lessened drastically during those few hours.

And to think they say Elves are not effected by headache.

We'll indulgingly skip the part were Gollum forgot to tell the Fellowship about a wall that stood in front of them, with the result of most of the others splattering against said wall in a large pile. Just as we will forget to mention the part where Elrohir got his head tangled in a giant spider-web and refused to go on unless someone (namely Boromir, whose arms the Elf had jumped in, in his panic) carried him. And the author thinks it wise to overlook how Éowyn and Legolas whined until Elladan and Aragorn carried them like Boromir was doing Elrohir. Not that we can call it 'whine' in Legolas's case, since the moment he opened his mouth he found himself in Aragorn's arms. Yet you can imagine how much Éowyn had to sweat (and yell) before Elladan agreed to carry her. (_And I'm not blushing, Elrohir. No. I'm red in the face because I've got sunburned. What does it mean, "yeah right, in this darkness?" I have! …what? "Elves don't get sunburned, anyway?" Who told you that? Oh, yeah. Eh-eh. You *are* and Elf. It kinda slipped my mind. Well, I can. How? Uhm… ergh… I'll tell you when you're old enough. Let's go.)_

Anyway, skipping all this, let's jump straight to when the Fellowship camped down, mindful of the Hobbits's justifiable weariness. Four or five hours had passed since Gollum had begun leading the way, yet there was no sign of an exit. The light hadn't grown, nor had the air become any fresher. They were sure of the road they'd taken only because they'd been going steadily upwards. They were close to seeing the sun again, or so they hoped with all their hearts.

This hope wasn't enough to quench the natural wariness most of them felt towards Gollum, anyway. The twins looked at him with open mistrust, and often fingered their weapons. Gandalf eyed him warningly, as thought he knew Gollum was up to something, and the Wizard was readying himself to react as quickly as possible to his mischief. Éowyn's only regret was that she couldn't pound the "ugly thing" (as she called him) into a wall each time he touched Legolas. The Hobbits were too famished to think anything about anyone.

But, as peculiar as those reactions were, none was more puzzling that Arwen's. At least not in Boromir's eyes. Whenever the Elven Lady looked at Gollum, bittersweet sadness wafted by her eyes; and even if she would smile at the sight of Gollum, she looked much closer to tears than mirth.

Could it be, Boromir thought, that whatever Arwen had foreseen in her dreams, concerned Gollum?

He was determined to find out.

That's why, when they decided for a well-deserved stop he made sure to remain close to her and at a safe distance from the others. But the most he got from her was this:

"The White Tower of Ecthelion, your dream, is so close now. It stands as a beckon in these dark times, shining like a spear of silver and beckoning to you, even as we speak. Do you remember the lullaby I sang to you so often, when you were a child? Then please, when you first set eyes on the Tower again, sing it - sing it for me." And he tried to tell her he could not sing, and that it would be thousand times better if it was her voice –oh, her lovely, lovely voice!- to herald their arrival in Minas Tirith. But she caught his eyes then, and the look on her face surprised him. She was smiling softly, the kind of smile that she used to have only for him when he'd been but a child – a smile filled with utmost love and pride. But there was a lingering pain in her grey eyes, that didn't sparkle quite right, when she asked him again. What else could he do then, other than give his word?

What? What about Aragorn, you ask? Well, Aragorn had (by some miracle) gotten rid of his jealousy and, like Frodo, the more he looked at Gollum, the more he pitied him. How long had that poor thing lived in the depths? How could have he survived long, identical days of darkness and loneliness? Years spent without light, without friends, and with barely some nourishment? What kind of horrors had he faced? And who *ever* was his tailor? That loincloth he wore was ugly beyond words! (no wait, that was something that Elrohir said. My mistake - must have messed up their lines).

The truth is that, deep inside, the Prince of Men was playing with the notion of taking Gollum away from the shadows and to the safety of Gondor. And -unknown to Aragorn- Legolas's thought mirrored his own. The blonde Prince of Elves wouldn't stop fussing over Gollum, asking him if he was alright, if he was hungry, if he needed anything, and patting his almost-bald head fondly. He felt a deep sympathy for that poor creature, and hoped that they would be able to help him, somehow.

Oh, and they would.

Gollum was sure of that.

Only, it won't be in the way Legolas thought.

No, not at all.

**TBC **

**Does that count as a cliff-hanger? *scratches the back of her head* I hope you're not mad – it took me weeks to upload, and then I leave you at a sort-of cliff-hanger, too. And I bet most of you already guessed what's wrong with Arwen, right? **

**As I planned it, next chapter will have more Aragorn/Legolas cuteness and more Gollum. And hopefully, Shelob. =) See ya in the chapter 21!!!!!!!! ^_^ **


	21. Chapter 21

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 21 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Warnings:_**_ Aragorn **and** Legolas *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*. Also, there's some Arwen/Boromir romance. And by now it's almost impossible to deny the attraction between Elladan and Éowyn. =) _

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles* _

**_Note:_**_ 300 reviews!!! *swoons* _

_ Legolas *hurries to fan Nemesi* Please, don't leave us! Not when MY marriage with ARAGORN is so close!!!!! *keeps fanning Nems* _

**_Rating:_**_ R  
  
_

* * * * *

The Fellowship's 'small break to let the Hobbits regain some precious breath' had lengthened considerably, seeing as "our guide assures us we're within spitting distance from the exit, so let's camp here! After all, what good can it do to push ourselves over our limits, (other than anti-aesthetic dark circles under our eyes)?", as Elrohir had so courteously pointed out.

The outcome of the evening was inevitable: after they'd searched the ground, built up the fire and huddled around it like any good boy-scout would have, Éowyn decided it was *her* time to cook. However, she very well knew that she needed her companions' permission before she could come anywhere near the food. She considered for a moment what she could do to convince them she *could* cook (no matter how sick Elladan had looked after trying her cookies out), dismissed it with a "Oh, well" and planted her feet on the ground in I'm_a_spoiled_princess pose, her hands on her hips, drawing in enough air for a yell even Sauron himself would have heard in his throne on the surface, past the valleys, beyond the river, behind a circle of Mountains and plains of stone, and deep within his fortress in Mordor.

The rest of the Fellowship turned towards her before she could speak a word, and just nodded (or shrugged, or waved) distractedly, telling her she could take care of the dinner, 'if she so wanted'. Éowyn doubled into herself as if punched, and turned slowly towards Elladan, blinking owlishly. He too shrugged, and then promptly went back to braid Elrohir's hair – the younger twin was currently in Seventh Heaven. He sighed contentedly from now and then, even purring at times (no matter how similar to Gollum and his reaction to Legolas that made him look). He was just so *glad* that he'd finally gotten all of his brother's attention once again!!

Of course, the minor detail that he'd had to *blackmail* Elladan for that, was just, well, a minor detail.

Éowyn was less than impressed by Elladan's sudden surge of brotherly love – it honestly made her grit her teeth that her favourite guinea pig had eyes for someone who wasn't her. And it only aggravated her (already) sour mood when she discovered –or rather remembered- that there was NO food to cook, and that the only thing she could (and did) do was to split the last _lembas _cakes and hand the pieces around.

"Our last _lembas." _Sam sighed, sounding morose. Merry echoed him with a sigh of his own.

"_Lembas _Again."

"_Lembas_ are very nutritious, Merry." replied Sam in what hoped was an encouraging voice. Elladan shook his head.

"Other than the only thing Éowyn can cook."

"Elladan… you don't cook _lembas…_ you eat them as they are!"

"Exactly my point." Elladan replied, pressing himself flat against the floor just in time to avoid Éowyn's flying frying-pan (still courtesy of Thranduil); and watching as it cut off the tips of his hair that weren't fast enough before embedding itself firmly into the wall.

"Does anyone know where our guide is, by the way?" asked Frodo timidly, hoping this small distraction would save Elladan's life.

"I think our Majesty here scared him away," remarked the aforementioned Elladan, this time dodging a complete set of forks. "It's true! You threatened to cook him, Éowyn! *I* would ran away, if I was him."

"If he's ran, then we're done for." Elrohir tilted his head to frown at his brother over his shoulder. "No food, no water, no guide and no idea *whatsoever* of where we are."

"I wouldn't worry." Interjected Gandalf. "Gollum said he'd go fishing up something for us. We crossed a small lake not so long ago, if you remember."

"You think it wise to leave him alone?" asked Elrohir, snuggling closer to his brother. By coincidence, he did so the moment Éowyn handed Elladan his piece of _lembas, _and –well- if his movement made those two stop smiling stupidly at one another, it wasn't his fault.

Gandalf said nothing, but bowed his head and sighed raggedly. Then, after getting a small nod from Arwen he said:

"He has a big part to play in our quest, whether if we trust him or not. But not even I know what to do of this knowledge. For the time being, just let him be." Then the Wizard went back to mutter something inaudible to himself, puffing out from his pipe a remarkable amount of smoke. After some minutes, the chattering around him stopped, but the cloud of smoke continued to grow. Some other minutes, and coughs and sneezes began, but *still* the cloud of smoke continued to grow. At one point, Elrohir moved towards the Wizard with a smile, but drew back looking slightly sick from the pipe fumes before he could even say 'bah'. 

Arwen shook her head, and handed around some tissues that the other members of the Fellowship promptly pressed against their mouth and nose – you may never know, it could help them breathe some slightly fresher air...

* * * * *

The grotto was dark.

…predictable.

And he'd stumbled a couple of times already, scratching his knees and soaking himself to the bone.

…even more predictable.

And the water of the lake was freezing.

…all the more predictable, I'd say.

And there wasn't even ONE fish for him to catch.

…did I say 'predictable' already?

Oh, but he wouldn't give up. Oh, no. He needed the fish! Needed-needed-needed-needed-needed-needed-needed*pant*needed it!!!!

The equation was simple:

More food for the Fellowship = More trust for poor Precious.

Yes. Yes. Easy, indeed. And he needed more trust. Oh, if he did. Because, if they trusted him, then they'd follow him. Follow him to where *she* was, and she'd be happy, because she'd have not one, not two, not even *three* but TEN people for dinner! And with even one Squirrel for dessert!!! Oh, she'd be so happy! And so proud of him! She wouldn't hit him this time, that huge spider! She wouldn't whip him with her venomous legs and make him shake with fever and nightmares! Nor would she sink her sharp, long teeth into his flesh!

And –on top of all- she'd be so happy with the dinner he'd brought her, that she would heed him if he asked her to spare the beautiful Elf.

At the mentioning of the Elf, Gollum stilled, watching his reflection ripple before his eyes.

Legolas was so kind, so warm… Gollum loved the way the Elf made him feel important. Precious had never felt that way before, but he loved feeling useful. Feeling wanted. He wouldn't let her touch him. Oh, no! Shelob would be free to eat the other members of the strange company how and when she pleased, but not Legolas! Legolas…

…Legolas would stay alive and keep Gollum company. Yes, yes. Company. So that he'd finally have a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone that would listen to him instead than use him to find food. Someone that would comfort him and not beat him. Someone that would bring some light in his life of darkness and pain. Someone in whose arms he could cuddle when nightmares kept him awake – or if the pain of her whipping did.

Yes, yes.

For what he cared Shelob could eat the white beard, those two creatures with the identical faces, the blonde woman with the sharp teeth… and yes, even that cute, short, curly creature with the wondrous blue eyes. Yes, Gollum would give her even that little thing who had so gently handed him some spare food in secret before, and had wrapped a clean cloth around the slashes on his arm. Even him. Even him.

But not Legolas.

So, come out of that stupid, smelly, freezing, dark water quickly you stupid, smelly, cold, shiny fish, or ELSE!!!!!!

He thought it, and the fish jumped out of the water and straight into Gollum's arms! Yeah baby! Precious found his calling in life! Enchanter of fishes. It sounded cool, if you asked him. Not a very lucrative job, he supposed, but with such a cool sound to it!

Laughing heartedly, Gollum put the squirming fish into the leather bag he'd brought with him, and then went back to do shooing sounds to the lake. In no time, *five* fishes jumped into Gollum's ready arms without him breaking a sweat… well, at this point, we can safely assume that some of Aragorn's psychic powers had somehow passed into Gollum.

C'mon, one can't wave his hands at some water and have what he desires jump straight into his arms and… wait a moment, here. *rushes to fill the bathtub, and once it's done begins flailing her arms wildly while shouting 'Legolas! Legolas!'* … … …*rushes back* Nope, it doesn't work. But Gollum continued his previous activities anyway, ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind that accused him of being heartless. He did have a heart… (he put a hand on his chest to be sure). Of course he did. However, he couldn't follow it, because it was still safely tucked inside Shelob's lair, where he put it whenever he went hunting – the same place where he should put this inner voice too, from now on. It was annoying. And it sounded suspiciously like… no wait. It didn't sound *like* him. This *was* that Ranger from the company… what was is name? Strummer? Stroller? Skidder? Oh, right! Strider! Gotcha.

Gollum didn't want to be found anyway, so he jumped deeper into the water, shuddering from the cold, hoping against hope that the Man would go away, and do it soon. However, Strider didn't seem affected by Gollum's NOT THIS WAY vibes, instead jogging up to where the fish enchanter was.

"There you are!" said the Man with a smile. "I thought you could need some help with the fishing, so I followed you and – are you all right? You're shivering." Gollum blinked. Why would this Man care? No one did. Not Shelob. Not the Whitebeard, nor the blonde woman. And certainly not him. Only Legolas did.

"F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-ine." He said, annoyed by the way his teeth clattered. "Gollum found fishes. Good fishes for good friends, Gollum's found." Aragorn glanced at the bag Gollum held, and smiled again.

"So many fishes! So big, and in so little time! The Hobbits will be most pleased. They were weary of _lembas_, potatoes and dried meat." He reached out, offering Gollum help to stand. "Thanks Gollum, really." He added warmly. Gollum blinked again, starting backwards from the offered hand. That Man… he was… thanking him for the food? Shelob never did. She just took it and ate it, and left nothing for poor Precious. "Ah, I just hope I had arrived in time to give you some help!" Gollum tilted his head to one side, then to the other. This Man wanted to help him? What a strange creature… it was almost as if he cared… cared for real… about Gollum.

But no one never had, right? Maybe not even Legolas had been this warm. Maybe not even the light in the elf's eyes could compare to the warm glow inside the Man's own.

Gollum was so shocked by this new notion, so confused by the mere thought that someone would thank him and want to help him, that he didn't notice the dark shape swimming underwater towards him, nor the bubbles it produced when it came to stand right behind him.

Luckily for him, Aragorn did.

"Watch out!" yelled the Man, and, reaching out for his sword, he pounced.

Gollum shrieked in fear when he saw the Man jump at him, the gleaming blade of Anduril coming one mere inch from his face. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest upon feeling the Man's hands come around him and held him to the Man's chest. He struggled, but it was in vain! The Ranger's grip was vice-like! And to think that Gollum was starting to trust him! To believe him! To think that--- his thoughts went no further. In that moment one sticky tentacle curled around his waist, tugging defiantly at it. Gollum's eyes shot open, and he found himself face to face with a horrifying cross of all the tentacled animals he could think of – and a failed one at that. And it was breathing right on *his* face! Oi!!!!!

But then Aragorn moved, and sank his sword into the monster's side to the hilt – the squashy thing lost its grip on Gollum, who felt Aragorn's arm tighten around him. Reflexively, he resumed his struggling, kicking his legs and flailing his arms to gain some leverage. The monster began to slid back into the water and as Aragorn turned and ran towards the shore, it opened its black mouth, and shot Aragorn a dose of its acid poison.

Aragorn isn't a Ranger just in name, and saw it come.

Just as he saw that if Gollum didn't stop squirming, the acid load would surely hit one of his flailing limbs.

Acting on instinct, the Ranger made a dive for the shore, pinned the defenceless Gollum to the floor none-too-gently, and shielded him with his body with the hope that his thick clothes would prevent the acid from touching his bare skin.

For being formulated in such a dire moment, and so quickly, it was a good plan. And for the most part it worked. But the acid did a little job of corroding the fabric of Aragorn's coat and tunic, and burned the flesh hidden beneath, drawing vicious red marks all over his left arm and hand.

When it seemed to him that the danger was gone Aragorn moved himself cautiously from Gollum's prone form. He was racked by violent shivers, and his face was covered in blood. Horrified, Aragorn began to check him for injuries, all the time speaking softly to him, telling him it was all right, that he was safe, that the monster had gone and Aragorn had protected him. Gollum nodded numbly to all of this, watching with huge eyes as Aragorn wiped his face clean with gentle hands, used his cloak to dry and warm him up. Once he was sure the only wounds Gollum had got were the nasty-looking scratches on his knees, Aragorn quickly divested himself of his tunic, and cutting his undershirt into long stripes, he carefully bandaged the still shivering Gollum.

As soon as he finished, Aragorn sat back on his heels to look at his handiwork. He was visibly relieved, yet he couldn't help but wonder where did the blood on Gollum's face come from. He had resolved to ask, but before he could even just blink Gollum wound his arms around the Man's waist, effectively trapping him, and bawling like a newborn Orc.

"Gollum is sorry! Gollum thought you wanted to hurt him! Hurt him, yes! Like she does! Like she always does! So Gollum got scared! Gollum is so, so sorry! Sorry!"

"It's all right." Aragorn said gently. "The only thing that counts is that we're safe and—"

"But your hand!" Gollum whined. "Your gentle hand, that protected Gollum! Gollum thought it evil! Gollum thought it wanted to hurt him, hurt him yes! And then Gollum's teeth had sank into it! Yes, yes, they had! Evil teeth! So evil! But Gollum didn't want to! _Gollum! Gollum!_" he began sobbing loudly, hiccupping and shivering, and Aragorn was left wondering what the *hell* he was babbling about, until he got a good look at his hand. When he did, he did a double take.

It was bleeding profusely, and under the red liquid he could see the marks left by Gollum sharp, little teeth.

"Gollum is sorry! Sorry! Now you hurt him? Hurt him, yes! He deserves it! Deserves punishment, he does!"

"Don't be silly." Aragorn remarked in a gruff voice. Gruff, but still gentle. He quickly cleansed his own wounds, bandaging them quickly but efficiently. Then he looked at Gollum with his head tilted, and a strange gleam stole into his eyes. "Or better yet, yes, you *do* deserve a punishment."

Gollum swallowed soundly, and squeezed his eyes shut when Aragorn reached out for him. He expected to be hit for what he'd done, but the pain –the pain he could so vividly imagine, for knowing it so well- never came. Instead he felt a gentle caress on his bald head, and he dared opening his eyes slowly– first one and then, after glancing about some, the other. The strange gleam in the Man's eyes had increased tenfold.

"*You* fished all that food and now *YOU* get to carry it. No objection. And don't you *dare* ask for help."

Gollum didn't. He just hugged the Man with all the strength he could muster, and then scampered to his feet, insisting that the Man used him as a walking stick on their way back to camp.

In the end, Aragorn **did** carry the bag of fishes half of time.

"Feel like doing it." he said. And Gollum grinned.

Maybe, there really was someone that could care for him.

* * * * *

"What happened then?" Pippin said around a huge yawn. Inside his breast pocket, Lascaran nodded, yawning himself. The flurry ball at the edge of his sleeping hat bobbed left and right as he did. Legolas chuckled.

"Then they travelled back to the Prince's homeland, and there they met his father the King." Pippin's eyes shot open, but in less than a second sleep had closed them back down.

"The---yawn---same King that had sent his son off to marry, only because it would give him more prestige?"

"Yes, Pippin, that same King."

"And?"

"And they bowed before him, the Prince and his beloved, and talked to him for nights and days, telling him of their adventures and of their love. Of how the Prince's heart forbad him to marry only for politics, now that it knew true love. And how wrong and painful it was, to separate two souls who are in love."

"And then the Prince's beloved plummeted the King against a wall until he saw the light…?" Asked the Hobbit, and his voice was low and slurry with sleep. He shifted a little under the covers, curling into a tight ball, and leaning into the caress Legolas bestowed upon his curly head. Inside his pocket, Lascaran was snoring soundly already.

"No, Pippin. They showed him their love was pure, and the King granted them their wish. So, the Prince wedded his beloved upon the day of Midsummer, and all were happy, and no shadow lingered above the couple as they shared vows of eternal love. And they lived happily ever after, till the end of their days – and then beyond, in the Halls of Mandos, forever and evermore."

It was but a dream, and Legolas knew it. A mere illusion. An exaggeration. Who knew if an elf and a Man –if he and Aragorn- could really meet again beyond death? But Pippin said nothing to it, because he'd fallen asleep at last, one hand curled gently over his pocket, warming and protecting his little squirrel friend. Legolas chuckled amusedly at the pair, but the soft look in his eyes gave him away. Pippin's eagerness, his simplicity, his cheerfulness, touched him deeper than he cared to admit. He let out a sigh. The unruly Prince of Mirkwood, the proud and stern warrior, had a very, VERY soft heart, it seemed.

"What a wonderful mother, you'd be." The words had barely reached his ears that Legolas had already swivelled around, fists up and at the ready, picturing very clearly in his mind how poorly he would reduce Aragorn for such comment. Then he saw the warm sparkle in the Man's eyes, the tenderness of his smile; felt the gentleness of his touch when he held Legolas to him, kissing his brow.

He saw it all, and could do nothing.

"Aragorn?"

"I can't tell you how much I want us to have children." Legolas sagged against him.

"It can't be done, _meleth. _We're both--"

"I know." Interrupted Aragorn. "But I can't stop my dreams to be filled by an image of the two of us sitting in the gentle glow of an old, huge hearth, such as is the nature of Gondorians to possess. I can see us tucked side by side in the folds of a warm blanket, doing nothing but bask in each other's presence. And then in the dreams seeps the merry sound of laughter - the laughter of our children as they play with your hair, or beg me to teach them how to handle a sword. And we revel in that sound, we find it precious, almost as precious at the one of our hearts beating in unison."

For the longest moment, it was impossible for Legolas to reply, for his breath had been stolen by Aragorn's words and hidden somewhere he couldn't really reach. He stared long into Aragorn's warm grey eyes, glimpsing a smallest hint of painful longing wavering amidst all the love there pooled.

"Aragorn…" The Elf whispered at last. Funny how, when in the presence of his Man, Legolas lost all his (in)famous eloquence.

"I know. It's silly. It's impossible. It's--"

"It's beautiful." Legolas whispered, kissing him gently, and then again and again. At last he moved away, but his lips still caressed Aragorn's enticingly with each breezy word he uttered. "And…"

"And?" Legolas grinned.

"And, as my father so eloquently put it before I left, 'There's always adoption, or we could ask Mithrandir to mix a potion to make me fertile'." The Elf's grin grew impossibly large, and it made him look as impish as a little kid. "And then again – I quote him- when one is as young as we are, what matters is not succeeding… but trying!!!!'"

Aragorn just stared at him. For one whole minute –I swear- he just stared at Legolas.

"Your *father* said that to you?"

"Every single word."

"He seems eager to become a Grandfather, I'd say."

"Oh, more than eager."

"Should we try, and work a little on these grandchildren?"

"Definitely." The Elf stood on tiptoe, touching their lips together. It was a light peck at first, but it quickly built up into a mind-blowing crescendo. Then Aragorn broke away, smirking at the obvious pout on Legolas's flushed face.

"Maybe we should wait for Gandalf to mix that one potion before we—MFF!" Legolas -who he hadn't fooled even for one moment- dragged him back into another soul-searing kiss, wrapping his arms around the Man's neck as Aragorn tried to remove his coat.

Soon, but barely soon enough, it was off. Aragorn regretfully broke the kiss and spread the coat on the ground. Turning, he picked Legolas up, and gently laid him on the floor, their lips locked, the Elf's arms back in place around the Man's neck. Aragorn got the hint when Legolas began to pull, and slowly slid his body on top of that of his love. Passion, desire and love exploded through them as they kept kissing, moaning softly into the other's mouth.

Aragorn's hands became bolder, and swiftly found a way under the Elf's shirt, caressing gently the warm velvet that was his skin. Legolas purred –actually purred- and the sound had nothing in common with Gollum's or even Elrohir's purr. It was a whispered, mewling noise that made Aragorn shiver helplessly.

"I love you Aragorn." said the Elf, reaching up to undo the laces of the Man's shirt.

"Me too, forever."

"My love."

"My beautiful…"

"My beauty sleep!" Came an annoyed Elf-voice from somewhere in the middle of the camp. Elrohir. Of course.

"Please, not when we're within hearing range…" This one was Gandalf.

"Hold me back, hold me back, hold me back… or else I'll get his head… hold me back… someone… anyone…" guess who?

"You said they were cute and you didn't care!"

"Oh please, Elladan! She was saying that only to calm you down!"

"You were?"

"Not now, okay?! This is Legsy we're talking about here! Just hold_me_back!"

"Elllllllllll~llllllllladan! My hair needs bruuuuuu~uuuuushiiiiiing!"

"He brushed it until one moment ago!"

"And now it's tangled again! Here, Ella--NO! My brush! Arwen, why?!"

"Elrohir, please, let them be! Can't you see they wish to—I mean, they need to—I-I mean, that your hair is so wonderful we could be blinded by the mere sight of it? So soft, so shiny, dark and smooth as thought woven of the night itself?"

"Why, thank you dear sister… I didn't know you liked my hair so much. Go on, go on, please. Don't stop just now. Keep praising me."

"Err…"

Legolas burst out into laughter, hiding his face against Aragorn's broad chest. The Man, shaking with laugher himself, sank his face into the Elf's sweet smelling hair. He rolled the two of them to one side, letting the elf worm his way deeper within his arms.

"I don't think they'd really notice us, if we continued. But I think it wise to stop now anwyay, and continue this once back on the surface."

"I agree. The exit can't be still that far, can it?"

"And once in Gondor, we'll get a room…"

"…like they've begged us to do for days!" Legolas agreed with another laugh. He went to clasp the Man's hand, and saw him hiss in pain and recoil. Worried, he looked down and gasped, seeing Aragorn's left arm and hand bare and covered with bandages.

"Aragorn! What? Who?"

"No need to worry, love." Replied Aragorn, putting a finger over his lips. "I just had a close encounter with a monster, down at the lake." He smoothed Legolas's hair away from his cheeks and forehead. The Elf too smiled at the touch, and kissed the finger that silenced him, his tongue flicking over the Man's calluses. With swift Elven grace he slid one leg over him, lifting his body to press closer to Aragorn. The Man held him closer, with a soft moan that may or may not be his love's name. Legolas kissed him again as his palms wandered across the Man's shoulders, up and down the muscles of his back, eliciting a low rumble from him.

Someone cleared his throat loudly behind them.

Close behind.

The two froze.

Then sighed.

With a choreographic synchronism the likes of which we hadn't seen since Arwen and Boromir went to talk with Thranduil in his rooms.

"Good night Aragorn."

"Good night Legolas."

Pippin drew a breath of relief, turned his back to the pair, and went back to sleep.

**TBC**

**I had finished this days ago, but FF.net wouldn't let me upload it... ;_; **

**Sorry for the delay!! *bares her teeth in pure Éowyn-style at FF.net* I hope you liked the part about Gollum… and the A/L scene: it was less –uhm- sexy in my thoughts, but then it turned out like this… it seems those two can't keep their hands off each other. I swear, they're… possessed! oO **

**See you in the next chapter! =) *waves* **


	22. Chapter 22

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 22 _

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue. _

**_Couples:_**_ Aragorn/Legolas, Arwen/Boromir and hints at Elladan/Éowyn. _

**_WARNINGS: _**_There's a fight in this chapter. And a pretty intense scene concerning someone being severely wounded. _

**_Note:_**_ I'm sorry it took me *THIS* long to write a new chapter, but a variety of issues prevented me from doing it. -_-;; The next time I post something, it will be the last chapter: the Epilogue that I call "In Gondor". It will take me some time to get to it, but it will be a matter of days (weeks at most), and NOT months. =) _

_I hope you still like this fic and are interested in its end. ^.^ _

_I leave you to Chapter 22 now! Enjoy!! _

**_Rating:_**_ R  
  
_

* * * * *

It was past midnight already, the campfire had begun to lessen and dancing shadows leaped across the cave like restless ghosts. Yet Gollum still stood on the farthest corner of the camp, his knees bent, his hands dangling between his legs. His face was hidden by the growing darkness as if he wore a mask, and only his pale yellow eyes could be seen as they gleamed quietly.

Everything was quiet, and Gollum realized suddenly he could hear the hearts of his companions beat steadily in sleep. It was a comforting sound, even as it was faint. He liked it. And he liked the feelings it evoked in him, in places he thought dead long ago.

A startled look swept across Gollum's face when Pippin unconsciously broke the spell.

The Hobbit, who was holding Lascaran in his joined hands, stirred and began munching on the top of the Squirrel's head (which in his dreams was a _lembas _cake, anyway), causing the little one to squirm groggily. Gollum watched them for a moment more, and the shadows dancing above his mouth made it look like he was smiling.

_I like them,_ he thought. _I like them all. And they like me._

Then, turning, he leaped soundlessly into a secret tunnel. When the darkness had completely swallowed him, and even the faint sound of his feet had been drowned out in the silence, sorrowful, bright grey eyes shot open in the middle of the camp, and Arwen let out a sigh.

_It's time, _she thought, and her hand tightened unconsciously around her knives.

* * * * *

Ooooooooooookay… he was not lost.

No, no, not at all.

How could he get lost inside a place he's lived in for *years*? It's just that he wasn't very familiar with these corridors, and it was getting him a tad more than he had predicted to get back to Shelob. Add to it that he usually carried a torch whenever he explored that underground maze –something he did not have with him at that time- and you'll understand why he'd been walking in circles for hours.

He was *so* not lost.

And to the records, if he was soaked to the bone it was because he'd *wanted* to trip on that stupid rock, roll down that stupid hill and fall into the stupid stream that came from the stupid lake he'd half-drowned in the day before. Thinking about it, he hadn't tripped at all. He'd just… uhm… played the part of someone who tripped.

Yeah, that's it.

Gollum is undoubtedly a master in finding excuses. ;-)

To be honest, if it was taking Gollum that long, it was partially because he didn't want to see Sehlob. At least not before he'd had the chance to clear his mind.

He'd been quick to realize that he wanted, no *needed* to save Legolas from Shelob.

But now he knew he couldn't let her hurt Strider, either.

The Man was cool. Well, duh. You know. I mean, he was, kind. And strong. And brave. And, well, handsome.

I mean, he seemed to care, didn't he?

But then, so did that child-like creature with the big blue eyes, the one that looked at him always so kindly.

Not to mention his other two friends, then one with the giant book and the one with the squirrel! They'd asked him to play together shortly after they'd me (the game was a strange version of volley and the ball was Lascaran… but that's details), and had made him feel wanted like never before.

And what could he say of that she-elf, the one with the hair as dark as the night sky? She'd been so sweet with him… true, Strider had cleaned and bound his wounded hand, but it was *her* that changed the bandage, murmuring shooting words to him as she did. It was her that patted his head, called him 'good boy' and kissed him goodnight once done.

And then there was that human, the one that seemed to be glued to her: he'd looked jealous when she'd lulled Gollum to sleep, true; but then he had given Gollum *his own* blanket to stay warm during the night.

The wizard had produced with his pipe some small wonders of smoke, like pictures of the surface, valleys, woods, rivers and shiny lake, more than once, and only for his delight.

And even the twins and the woman with the yellow hair had been kind and understanding with him.

Could they really like him?

Like him as he liked… liked… all… all of them?

Ooh, poor Precious! But Shelob wanted them! Wanted them to eat them! He didn't know how, but he must convince her to spare his… friends… (it sounded odd to him, the thought to have finally found some friends)

He had to.

But that, my dear readers, is one *hard* task!

To convince Shelob not to eat someone was almost as hard as getting Boromir to realize that he and Arwen were in love and perfect for each other, mortality or not.

Well, since that was a problem he could not find a solution for until he met her, Gollum thought he'd better focus on finding the way back to Shelob.

Let's try this one tunnel here.

…

…closed.

This one?

…

…leads into a chasm.

This one?

UGH! Shelob's second toilet. Better leave.

…

Oh, good! He knew that one grott—wait a minute. Hadn't he been in that place something like, a couple of hours ago? He'd been walking in circles AGAIN!

That did not mean he was lost… did it…?

…

… …

… … …it definitely did.

Uuh… you think it'd be unbecoming to start bawling and ask for help…?

Striii~iiider!!!

Leeeee~eeeeeeegolas?!?!

ANYONE?!?!?!?!?!?!

* * * * *

He did it.

It took him most part of the night, but he still made it back to Shelob.

And the she-spider was exactly where he thought she would be. The same exact spot where he'd left her, actually: in front of the chessboard.

What Gollum had not expected to see was a whole pack of Orcs (one of which still waved a map of sorts with his right hand), hanging head-down from the roof, so wrapped up in her web that they couldn't even talk, least of all move.

Gollum blinked when Shelob pushed absentmindedly the closer Orc, and watched the poor thing swing back and forth and whine softly. Then she pushed it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

_Okay, she must have been doing this for a while, _concluded Gollum somewhere around the twentieth push.

If truth be told, Gollum was scared to get near the she-spider at the moment. Not that he didn't sympathize with the swaying Orc, but he knew better than come too close to Shelob when she was in a foul mood.

_We must do it Precious, we must. For them. Breath. In. Out. Good. Now walk. Right foot goes up, then down. Okay, now the other one. _

Hearing the scratch of Gollum's feet on the rocky floor, Shelob looked up from the chessboard, paralysing him with a single glance.

"Oh, there you are! At last! Where have you been, and where *is* my dinner?" Note that she said 'mine', not 'ours'. It never was 'ours' – everything was always hers, and hers alone. Poor Gollum could die for what she cared.

Gollum pondered for a moment what could he do to help his friends, wrote it off with a "Valar help me" and began to bat his eyelashes outrageously at her. It was rather disturbing to see actually, but Gollum hoped he looked as cute as Legolas had when he'd used the same trick on Aragorn - the Man had actually melted into a pool of goo and done everything Legolas had asked of him.

"Precious did find something… but it's something that Shelob surely would not like… something too foul… too skinny… too poor for your majesty!" he said in a voice all honey and sugar. "Yes, yes, too poor for great, magnificent Shelob! _Gollum!_ She deserves better, yes, the best! The best! Not what poor Gollum found, not at all! So poor Gollum came to ask Shelob if he could let the little insignificant preys he found go… so they might bring the mighty Lady Shelob the food she deserves! Kingly food! Queenly food!"

He knew he was babbling, not to mention talking with such a speed that half of the words came together in one single, incredibly long sound, but the she-spider must have understood the sense of it anyway, because she puffed out her chest pompously and said:

"Of course I deserve the *best*. Let them go, let them go, whatever they are. And be sure to bring back something worth of me, this time."

_Vanity, your name is Shelob,_ thought Gollum as he looked skywards and murmured a low "thank you – thank you" chant.

Without another word he turned, and skipping through the darkness at top-speed he made his way towards the camp, the place where his friends, his real, only, friends, awaited him. He even turned cartwheels every now and then, shouting out with glee once he was too far gone for Shelob to hear.

What he did not know is that one of the Orcs had managed to free his mouth from Shelob's web, and was now screaming at top of his lungs:

"It may be the Company Master Sauron is looking for! Don't let them go!" Shelob growled irritably at the Orc-chieftain, and poked him hard and quickly, so that he swayed to and fro in front of her eyes. 

"Why should I help you?" She pouted (yes, she actually *pouted*, though you didn't hear it from me), still poking her victim, and in a girly, whiny voice she said: "You interrupted my game of chess! I was winning, let me tell you… *winning*! And you*brutes*"—poke—"came, and distracted me with your idly chatter!"—poke—"Master Sauron wants, Master Sauron seeks, Master Sauron here, Master Sauron there"—poke—"… and it's all your fault if I lost!!" 

"But… who where you playing against? There was no one here!" Boy, she looked ready to kill the Orc when he said that. Luckily for him she kept her temper in check, and all that happened was that her eyes narrowed, and that she poked him so hard the web string that bound him to the ceiling snapped. The poor thing fell like a ripe fruit on the floor, screeching. 

It might be enlightening for the reader to know that Shelob, due to the boredom of living alone for centuries, had developed this strange habit of playing chess against herself. 

To the date, she's never won a single game. 

"It's important!" Assured the Orc-chieftain in a shriek, while bumping, thumping, rolling and sliding on the rutted grounds. "Master Sauron"-bump-"is"-bump-"looking"-bump-"for the most beautiful creature"-bump-"of this World"-slide-"The Morning Star of Mirkwood, who is hiding somewhere in the depths of your caverns!" 

Following the previously mentioned Murphy's Law, the Orc-chieftain had just said the *only* thing that could rouse the vain Shelob into action. 

He'd dared to insinuate that existed someone more beautiful than her! 

And this someone was wandering across *her* realm? 

Are we crazy or what?? 

Shelob, angry enough to have steam puffing out from her ears, raised herself on her hind legs. With one single swoop of her clawed fore-arm freed all the Orcs, which fell in heap of a tangled limbs on the floor.

"Explain. Now," she hissed. The Orcs all cowered, as though they were many bodies for one single mind. Then the Orc-with-the-map was pushed forward, stumbled, and under the gaze of a fuming Shelob, he began stuttering about the beauty of the Morning Star, her magnificence, how a star seemed to shine bright on her brow, how the brilliance of the summer sky seemed to be trapped forever in her luminescent eyes, how her hair had a luminous golden sheen. 

Shelob began pacing, and the anger seemed to radiate from her like physical waves. The Orcs, most of them still bound, huddled together in a corner, looking like they were trying to melt into the wall. Shelob didn't spare them a single glance, but still her anger rose and rose and rose still, so that she kicked and punched things as she went, pulverizing boulders as tall as she was and even knocking over the chessboard. 

You must understand – Shelob's lived in the darkness all her life, and so she has never seen herself in a mirror. Somehow, this has lead her to think she was beautiful, or better, the most beautiful creature imaginable. She had even managed to convince herself that if she'd ever see herself in a mirror she'd fall in love with her own, striking reflection. (Narcissus, anyone?) 

After a good dose of pacing, muttering, fuming from the ears and flailing her fore-arms wildly, Shelob decided the inevitable course of action: she'd find the Morning Star, find her now, and see if she really was that beautiful.

What would happen if she was, you ask?

Well, it's simple: in that case, Shelob would kill her with her own hands.

* * * * *

Gollum re-entered the camp well past the time for breakfast; he was tired, famished, once again soaked to the bone, and hurt in places he didn't really knew he had before falling on them.

He stepped into the warm circle of light with a grateful sigh, eyeing one empty bedpost greedily, when a resounding yell reached his ears. Before he could even blink he found his head trapped into an eager elven grip.

"Would you look at yourself?! Covered in dirt and grime, dripping wet… And I don't EVEN want to THINK what causes you to smell so!" Elrohir bellowed, his voice hitting a squeaking note at the end. "By the Valar, you're looking terrible! What's happened? Oh, don't bother, don't bother: lucky you I'm here to help!" He was on the verge of trembling, so horrified he was. He grabbed a handful –uhm, well, he has so few… let's say a fingerful?- of Gollum's hair and began to fuss over it. The poor Gollum could just watch with eyes as wide and round as teacups as the dark haired elf played him about. He did wonder distantly if he ever stopped to take a breath, though.

"AGH! This is abominable!! Splits ends everywhere! Oh, you're in serious need of an hairstyler! Once we get to Gondor you *are* seeing one, period! ARGH! By the Valar what's this dead animal hanging from you hips?? Uh? It's not alive? Never was? Then what--a loincloth? A *loincloth*?? What, are we joking?? This is so passé! Absolutely unfashionable, who *ever* chooses your clothes? Lucky you I always carry some of my old clothes along in case of emergencies! And if *THIS*isn't an emergency, then I don't know what--!! Elladan, hand me my soap! Down to the lake we go!" Gollum blinked, then something of the high-speed speech registered with his mind and he screeched.

"Not the lake *again*! _Gollum!!!_"

"Oh, yes, the lake *again*!" Elrohir swooped, tucked the flaying Gollum under one armpit and –catching with the other hand the soap Elladan had thrown at him- strolled towards the lake, humming softly to himself.

* * * * *

After the bath had solved Gollum's problems with dirt, the duo hurried back to the camp, Elrohir still humming happily and Gollum still tucked safely under the Elf's armpit - though this time he wore a resigned expression on his face and had his chin in his hands, with his armpits swaying in mid-air with each step Elrohir took.

Boromir sat next to Arwen as they dubiously watched Elrohir trying to cut and style the spare strands on Gollum's head into a resemblance of hair. The Elf's attempts at cutting the split ends resulted in regular heart-attacks, near-bites and scary experiences that both he and Gollum would gladly forget.

That task (more or less) done, they went to find something Gollum could wear.

Fishing something suitable from Elrohir's bag was less difficult that you may be inclined to think. But once presented with a pair of leggings and a loose tunic Gollum just sniffled at them, before his pale, beaten-puppy eyes blinked up at Elrohir with a 'what do I do with these?' kind of look. It was as thought he had never seen any clothes before.

Elladan was the one to realize that he probably hadn't. 

So, by virtue of example, he showed Gollum how easily he slipped his tunic off and then back on. Off, on. Off, on. Off, on.

Gollum hesitantly tried to copy him.

Really.

Tried.

But he wasn't very successful. 

The fifth time Elladan slipped his shirt off, Gollum managed to remain tangled into his own for the twentieth, and glared at the stubborn piece of clothing with a very cross and vaguely hurt look on his face.

Éowyn was the first to double up, holding onto (a still shirtless) El-hon in order not to fall over. Elladan himself followed soon, and though the others valiantly held out for a handful of seconds, in no time they were all rolling on the floor – even Gollum, though he was not laughing but rather wrestling with the shirt, trying to bite it and at the same not to be chocked by the evil thing in the process.

When they had all (relatively) calmed down, Éowyn walked up to Gollum and helped him out of the shirt-trap. That done, seeing the dubious look Gollum shot her, Éowyn refrained from saying anything, and just handed him a pair of Hobbit-trousers of Pippin's. After getting sure the trousers weren't something to eat (or to be eaten by…) Gollum slipped them on, rewarding his companions with a toothy grin.

They were just his size AND weren't trying to throttle him, like the Elf's shirt had.

He thought he could live with them.

* * * * *

After that, Gollum began restless: he asked nothing better than to lead the Fellowship out of that terrible place of darkness and death, and he could not stand still as the others get dressed and collected their belonging. You could see him turn cartwheels and somersault (hitting his head on the low ceiling more than not), dancing in circles with his hands over his head and laughing hard.

The rest of the Fellowship was greatly affected by his bounciness, and they all laughed at his antics. They realized they were going to see the surface again very soon, and the thought brought them such intense happiness, it was almost a physical sensation.

The sun, the fresh air, the smelling green grass, the white clouds and the brilliant sky! They could think of nothing else!

At one point, Elrohir began humming softly a joyful tune, and Elladan was quick to conceive lyrics to go with it: he began to sing about the golden leaves of Lórien cloaking the ground in Autumn; about the fresh, sparkling water of the Nimrodel washing through them; about the sunlight, warm and golden as honey, seeping through the limbs of the trees, outstretched towards the sky as thought wanting to brush it gently. He sang all of it softly, in a voice that was shiny magic as only the voice of the elves can be.

Even the Hobbits, famished and tired as they were, began chorusing in their lovely, little voices as they walked to and fro.

Arwen stood watching all this with tears in her eyes, and even when they were finally all ready and started to march she stayed behind, surveying them all like a mother would her cubs.

She did not join them in their singing, nor did she talk any as they marched up and up in the low tunnel, toward a small bright light that had suddenly appeared at the end of it. When they stopped to watch in awe that first real sparkle of sunlight, she went to Legolas, and lovingly adjusted his cape around his shoulders and covered his hair with the hood. He looked questioningly at her, but she just smiled, kissing his brow softly, before going back to the end of the line.

Legolas did not question her, but he did not wear off the hood either.

The break was short; gleefully they speeded towards the little light, which seemed to call to them with a siren's voice, sweetly. Yet, even as they walked, Éowyn left Elladan's side and waited for Arwen, falling in step with her.

"Is there anything wrong?" she asked gently, but her eyes positively sparkled at the thought of seeing Edoras. "Legolas told Aragorn who told Elladan that he was worried about you, and El asked me to keep an eye on you." she giggled. "They sound like children, don't they? But really, I'm a bit worried about you, too. You look troubled." Arwen just shook her head, glancing wistfully ahead of them. Following her gaze, Éowyn asked softly:

"It's Boromir, isn't it?" And watched with delight as Arwen blushed beetroot red.

"No," croaked Arwen, shacking her head madly. Her hair rose from her neck, whipping around her pale cheeks, and Éowyn noticed for the first time that her hair was intertwined with strand of golden silk that made it shine and sparkle. Éowyn could not help but frown. Not only her hair, but her skin was shining, too – as thought Arwen was letting her inner light burn bright as a star on purpose. And what to say about her garments? She looked like a Mirkwood Amazon, and not a Rivendell's Lady.

This all puzzled Éowyn, but she had no time to dwell on that, seeing as Arwen was talking to her again.

"Given the chance," she was asking quietly, "what would you choose between your happiness, and that of the one you love?"

"What?" shrieked Éowyn. "What a silly question!"

"Is it?"

"Of course I'd want the happiness for both of us!" Éowyn said lowly, leaning close to Arwen's hear as if she was revealing her one of the most secret truths of life. The Elf laughed.

"You're a wise woman, Éowyn," murmured Arwen; and then, taking her face in her hands, she leaned down to kiss her brow as she'd done Legolas – it was an unmistakable gesture. It meant: 'I love you, beloved sister mine'.

Éowyn rubbed the spot where Arwen's lips had touched her skin, and watched her with eyes wide with wonder.

"Take care of Elladan," murmured Arwen as she gently pushed the woman back toward her brother (who kept looking back over his shoulder at the two of them, worried, and obviously missing Éowyn).

It was when Éowyn was against at his side that Shelob attacked.

Just like Arwen knew she would have.

* * * * *

It hall happened in a matter of seconds.

"The exit!" Cried Pippin, and at once the Hobbits dashed forwards, and found that a veil of dusty cobwebs separated them from the fresh air. Boromir unseated his sword to cut through that final barrier, and Elladan and Elrohir were beside him.

It was in that moment, when no one was paying attention, that Shelob slithered out of the shadows, quick as a snake. An outraged roar scratched out from deep within her throat, as her eyes fell on who she thought was the Morning Star.

The she-spider did not see Éowyn –whom even as she beautiful, was mortal, and did not shine- nor did she see Legolas, concealed as he was by the charm Arwen had put on his cape.

Instead she saw Arwen: she shone as though she was a star herself, and the ethereal light she gave off seemed to feed Shelob's fury.

_How dares she! How dares that Elf to be more beautiful than Shelob,_ the spider thought. But she was well beyond speech: fury had robbed her of her wits, and it was pure instinct that moved her towards her rival.

But Arwen was ready, having seen this all in her visions: even as Shelob bore her venomous fang down on her, the Elf brought a bright Phial for her cape. Arwen uncapped it and splashed the burning liquid inside onto the spider. Shelob roared with fury, clawing madly at the air before her. The liquid light from Galadriel's Phial burned her, seemed to consume her skin, to destroy it as acid would, and Shelob hated that pain, and she who had caused it.

"The pass!" Shouted Arwen. "Cut the cobwebs! Quick!" Unable to do anything else, Boromir and the twins complied, turned their back on Arwen. Soon the way was free, but none moved.

"Fly, you fools!" Arwen whispered, and her voice bounced off from the low ceiling, the dark walls, and resounded like a hollowed call in their ears.

Shelob shrieked, for the liquid light had made her blind, and snapped her mouth, once, twice, flaying her limbs as Arwen forced her backwards and away from her Companions with her knives.

The Hobbits were pushed outside first, no matter how loud they cried that she needed help. Éowyn too wanted to help her, but she was hauled up in Elladan's arms and carried away as well. Strider, he too acting on instinct, clasped Legolas to him –the Elf was shouting, crying, struggling madly as he stretched his arm towards Arwen, but Strider managed to leap outside, somehow, shouting at the other to follow them and be quick, for the Valar's sake, be quick!

But Boromir, deaf, dashed towards Arwen, grasping his sword. Elrohir quickly caught him, curling one arm around his shoulders. The Man struggled, his sword fell, clinging ominously against the floor, and he howled, fearful and distressed without knowing why. He was crying, twisting and kicking madly within Elrohir's hold to try and break free, but he froze, his body went limp and tears fell from his eyes when he met Arwen's gaze.

She was smiling, and her smile was soft and sweet and felt like a goodbye.

It was.

"Amin mella lle, Boromir," she whispered.

"Arwen!"

Shelob, with smoke raising from her burning skin, her limbs crackling and contorted, her spiky hairs in flames, rose behind Arwen like an hellish dream. Her forelimbs were raised, and on each end stood a sharp red claw.

A poisoned claw.

And as the spider let out its last, shrieking cry, she attacked, and one of her claws found its mark inside Arwen's shoulder, past the velvety skin, deep into the soft flesh, meeting bone and blood and then air again.

"ARWEN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"

Arwen gasped, her eyes widening as her body jolted. Time screeched to a grinding halt, her knives slid from her hands -her little, white, lovely hands- and clattered against the floor, rolling away and into the dark, to never again be found.

She lowered her head, too slowly to be reality, too slowly not to be just a nightmare, and stared wonderingly at the claw protruding from her chest. She looked up then, and she still smiled. A crystal teardrop fell form her eyes. Another one, crimson, fat and horrible, slid down from the side of her mouth to her chin. They splashed silently on the floor and mingled.

Boromir felt his heartbeat pound in his hears. His energy dry.

Still she smiled.

Even as she fell on her knees, she smiled.

Her back collided with the ground and still, she smiled.

Because she had seen this.

Shelob, mad with jealousy, would have died killing the Morning Star of Mirkwood.

That's why Arwen had made her believe that *she* was the Morning Star.

She'd wanted to save Legolas.

To save Éowyn.

And her own life seemed such a little price to her...

**- TBC**

**See you in the next and LAST chapter!**


	23. Chapter 23 Epilogue

**_Title:_**_ Radical Dreamers – chapter 23_

**_Author:_**_ Nemesi_

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue._

**_Couples:_**_ Aragorn/Legolas, Arwen/Boromir and hints at Elladan/Éowyn._

**_Summary: _**_For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles*_

**_Note:_**_ This is _incredibly_ long (about 15 pages on Microsoft Word), but still I hope that you will read it and that you will like it… and maybe even review it. =) I'd very much love to know what you think of this fic now that it's reached its end. =)_

**_Rating:_**_ R  
  
  
_

* * * * *

Arwen saw the world tilt, then the ceiling appeared in front of her eyes. Her half-lowered eyelids became like a blurred border around her vision.

There was no pain, no light, too little sound.

_Poison, _she suddenly knew.

She breathed, or rather felt her chest rise and fall, heard the sigh of the air sliding through her parted lips, her heart sounding like a slow drum in her ears.

It felt as though she was drifting off some lukewarm current, sinking slowly and languidly down into dark waters. Something moved about her – blurred forms like flames against the shadows, their voices a silvery babble in her ears. From somewhere far above water dribbled down on her face, warm on her cheek, salty on her mouth.

Hands came, smothered her hair back from her face; "_Tinúviel!"_ someone called her, and "_Beren"_, she wanted to answer, "_Beren, beloved mine, hear me, save me, please!"_ But even as she thought that she knew that it was no longer Beren the name of his love, like hers wasn't Lúthien anymore. That life was past and done with. She was Arwen now, and he who she loved was:

"Boromir…"

She thought she heard someone sob in response to her call, but her hearing was dim, and the pump of her own blood covered any other sound. Then she was being lifted off and carried away. Her head lolled back, her lids closed, and she felt the frenzied beating of his heart next to her ear.

* * * * *

Outside water poured down in flashing sheets of silver, pounded on the ruins of the once-splendid Edoras, and it hiss sounded like the voice of a hidden fiend from the shadows.

Brown water rushed in dirty torrents on the ragged grounds, gurgling, foaming, ever rising. All colours had been washed away from the sky and mingled in a blurred opaque grey. The air was cold and light and stinging - it smelled like wilting flowers and drenched soil. Bolts exploded every now and then, like shivers of purple amidst the clouds, and their roar reached high into the sky, like the call of a hunting beast, or a spiralling prayer.

Another bolt of lightening ripped through the sky, and Aragorn surveyed his Companions in the flickering light. 

Legolas had long left the circle of his arms, and stood now a few paces from him, his back to Aragorn - the pale, shimmering figure of a young boy holding the backs of his own arms. 

The Hobbits, on the contrary, had sough comfort in each other's presence, and were all huddled together against a ruined wall, Pippin's shivering form held tightly by Merry, Frodo's head against Sam's shoulder.

Éowyn was distraught. She was laying on the floor with her head on Elladan's lap, murmuring softly that she should have seen it coming, that she should have done something, help her, and that it was her fault if Arwen had been wounded so severely– hadn't Shelob called the Elf "Morning Star" when she'd attacked?

Elladan could only caress her back gently, shedding silent tears of his own. His lips moved every now and then, but no words came out. He'd sunk in a world past reality. His sister, his beloved baby sister was on the verge of death, and he had done nothing to prevent it.

Elrohir stood behind them, tense, growling, with his forehead pressed to the cool stone. Blood tricked leisurely down his knuckles, for he'd been long punching the ruined wall he now stood against. And his thoughts were shockingly similar to his twin's – Elves were not meant to experience wound and death, and yet Arwen was battling for her life, struggling for every breath, her body shivering, growing colder and colder, and looking as thought the next breath would be too much a task for it to accomplish.

And all he had been able to do was watch - powerless, useless, unable to do anything.

Gandalf stood farther from them upon the hill-top. With his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, weighting on his staff as thought he was about to collapse, he looked oldest than ever. Every now and then he shook his head, and murmured words escaped his lips. The little hope that had never died inside him– not when Shelob had attacked, nor when Arwen had slid to the floor, her chest speared- seemed to have gone out like a candle in the wind, leaving him without strength.

And Boromir - Boromir seemed dead himself. He would not move, nor talk. His eyes stared blindly before him as he cradled Arwen to him, her head against his arm, his fingers buried deep in the damp shimmering mass of her dark hair.

_"Arwen…" _he would whisper every so often. _"My Tinúviel…"_

Aragorn looked down at his hands, and his vision blurred with tears that wouldn't fall.

_Arwen, dear cousin mine, my friend… why? Why did it have to happen to you? My sweet sister, my dear evening star, mother and keeper and companion in my childish mischief… _

He shook awake from his thought when, all of a sudden, the rain stopped.

For a moment all was quiet. All was dark.

And then, just a swiftly, the clouds opened far overhead and light like golden water spilled down on them from above. Gandalf's head shot up, and his eyes gleamed like jewels as he cried:

"Thanks the Valar! The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!"

Aragorn looked up, and what he saw was beyond the realm of possibility.

_I'm dreaming_, he thought. _I must be_, but he knew he wasn't.

There came, drifting downwards on the gentlest zephyr, Gwaihir the Wind Lord, and behind him came in a line, shining gold and brown in the pale light, the swiftest and mightiest of all the Eagles.

Aragorn shook when he saw them land soundlessly before him. He could not find it in himself to move, so amazed ad grateful he was. Then Gandalf threw his arms up and cried:

"Quick, you fools! Quick! There may be hope still for Arwen! The Eagles will bear us to Gondor, for powers higher than any of us asked them to. Come, come, have no fear! But be quick!" Even as he said so he mounted on Gwaihir's broad back.

"Quick!" he said again, and his voice might have been ominous and scary had it not be so soft, so concerned.

Boromir, awakening at last from his daze, lifted Arwen up onto Landroval's back and mounted after her to steady his unconscious love. Melendor the swift landed before Elladan and Éowyn, and they went immediately on him, Elladan leaping up first and gathering Éowyn in his arms. Gollum was grasped none too gently by the Eagle's left claw.

Elrohir approached the last Eagle, then stopped, watching Aragorn with a question in his eyes.

But Aragorn could not move. Not yet.

He looked at Legolas, a pale and fragile ghost in the dark, and felt the Elf's misery surging like waves from him. Legolas's shoulders shook as though he was sobbing, but no sound came from him until, "It's all my fault…" he whispered. "All mine."

And Aragorn hurt too much to deny it, even as he knew it was not true.

It was no one's fault.

How could such an horrid incident be blamed on anyone? That was fate, bad luck, tragedy – call it as you must, it was not Legolas's fault.

Yet he could not say the words.

It seemed blasphemous, monstrous, to speak while witnessing and feeling so much pain.

Legolas turned to him at last, and such vision of sheer beauty robbed Aragorn of his breath.

How old was he, Aragorn wondered. For Legolas looked indescribably innocent at that moment, and incredibly young. He seemed fragile like a glass statue, and shone just as much under the waxen sunlight.

There were no words to describe his beauty in that moment of cruel pain.

He was dazzling.

Was it wrong to think so?

Yet he was.

He was.

His eyes brimmed, iridescent pools of blue in which all the light gathered; his lips were pale rose and trembling; his saturated hair hung to his face and neck, shining like a shower of gold. And when his voice came it was soft and almost ethereal, and gave a resonance of divine pain to his words.

"We can't call off our engagements, Aragorn." Pain radiated from him like a silent call, breaking Aragorn's heart to pieces. Never had the Man seen such pain, heard such guilt.

"They are no games. We've been chosen - who cares if we're being handed away like mindless toys for politics? We can struggle and kick and cry like children, but it's decided. It's our fate. We cannot walk away from our duties, even if it's for love. We've tried to run away from destiny, but it has found us, like a stalker hidden in the shadows. If we had not lingered in Lórien, Arwen might…" he shook his head.

"But it does not matter now. Our road is laid right before us. We cannot falter now, nor can we turn back away. We must marry those who have been chosen for us. We must do it for Middle Earth. Even thought we may never meet again, we must. I…I don't want anything like this to happen ever again." He climbed up behind Gandalf on Gwaihir's back. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered.

Aragorn nodded dumbly, and let Elladan guide him onto Melendor's back.

"Forever, _meleth_," he whispered back, shaking like a wind-wracked tree. Overwhelmed, far beyond shame and vanity, he hid his face against Elrohir's back and cried like a child.

And he did not have to raise his eyes to know that Legolas was crying just like he was.

* * * * *

They took off swiftly and sped away towards Gondor. Valleys, woods, rivers, luscious landscapes and visions of ruin sped past under them in a blur, until before them appeared the Minas Tirith, gleaming against the sky like a spike of pearl.

Boromir felt tears rising in his eyes, and lowly he began to hum the soft, sweet lullaby Arwen used to sing to him. He sang, his voice unsteady and rasp, cradling her closer, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair and crying silent tears into it.

Arwen heard it, and sighed.

Her last thought was a silent thank you to Boromir for having kept his promise, then she saw and heard no more.

Boromir gave a distressed cry, and frantically called her name as he shook her.

"Arwen! Arwen!" But she did not answer, did not move, did not react at all – her head lolled to and fro as he shook her, no breath slid through her parted lips. Boromir gasped, and was suddenly aware that it was not his the voice calling her name louder and louder – his voice had all but forsaken him.

He looked up and saw Éowyn trashing within Elladan's arms, screaming, shrieking, her voice growing ever louder as she called for Arwen to wake up. He saw Elladan steady her, hold her as though she was a little child. He saw the Elf's arms go around her, his hand guide her stricken face to his shoulder, and her voice died out in a whisper.

"It's my fault, all my fault. No one else's. She did so to protect me. Me."

At this Legolas gave too a wailing cry. His hands went up to his face.

But already the Eagles were landing in the garden where the withered White Tree of Gondor was, and Denethor came running towards them from the Palace, his white hair streaming behind him.

"Call the Healers, and be quick!" Gandalf shouted as he dismounted, and for the first time in his life the Steward of Gondor yielded wordlessly to his will, and send a passing servant to rouse those inside the House of Healing.

Denethor, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir and Elrohir, with Gollum trotting on all fours behind them, went to find help for Arwen. However Elladan stayed with Éowyn, seeing as she could not even held herself up, and along with Legolas they followed Faramir –who'd been called back from the borders to attend to his King's coronation and wedding- to the chamber readied for the _Aûrel_.

Éowyn, still shivering and with tears streaming down her cheeks, let Elladan arrange her on the bed, let him hold her as she cried more, let him whisper shooting nonsense in her ears as he caressed her head gently.

_It's not your fault. I love you no matter what. No matter what, _said a silent voice in her head.

Sighing her thanks Éowyn closed her eyes and let sleep carry her into the blissful darkness.

* * * * *

When she awoke, the first thought that came to her mind was:

_"Forgive me. Blame me, if someone you must blame. It was my doing." _

Then she became aware of the shivers wracking her body, the soft feeling of the linen sheets against her skin, the softness of the cushions under her head, the sweet smell of soap that surrounded her. Sweat cooled on her neck and arms, and the thirst in her was like a living thing that demanded attention.

She tried to stand up and gasped at the pain within her chest. It shot through her like molten _mithril,_ rushed down her limbs, but the pain was a good thing for her: it was a reminder that shook her awake from her haze.

She blinked and looking about. Her vision was blurred and her head spun, as thought a fever run in her, but she knew it was not so.

High arched windows opened before her, and beyond stretched a vision of green fields sprinkled with little white flowers like pale stars. The sky gleamed. The wind was like velvet on her cheeks as it raised her long hair off her shoulders. She leaned her face into it, eyes closed, and sighed.

Never something so simple had looked and felt so blessed, and it moved her almost to tears.

She opened her eyes again, and just beside her on a beautifully carved wooden table stood a bottle of clear water. Sunlight shone on it, and the glass refracted billions of little hues at her, like fragments of rainbow.

She stared at it for a long time, and then grasped it savagely, ignoring the pain in her chest when it came, only welcoming the fresh, sweet water as it poured down her throat.

The bottle was almost empty when she put it back on the nightstand, and her trembling hands would have knocked it down hadn't someone caught it for her.

She blinked, and looked down at the creature that stood with his legs in a crouch beside her bed.

"All the water she drank, yes, yes, good girl, drink water she must. Whitebeard says it's good for her, so Smeagol brought her a bottle, yes!" Gollum said, grinning goofily up at her.

He was wearing a blue coat, black leggings and a white shirt. His crumpled hair was tied back in a ribbon, and under the sunlight his bare feet looked remarkably similar to those of the Hobbits.

"Gollum?" She blinked when he reached up to ruffle her hair affectionately – the same gesture she'd bestowed upon him inside Shelob's lair.

"No, no, _Precious!_ The name's Smeagol now! Smeagol!" She giggled when he began to run circles on the tiled floor, shouting and barking like and overjoyed puppy. The noisier he got the higher she laughed - and the more she laughed, the more agitated he became.

His screeches of joy rose and rose, shrill and howling-like, until the door of the bedroom was slammed open so hard it almost flew off its hinges, and Boromir appeared in the doorframe – sweaty and panting and with his eyes wild with worry.

"What's happening here? It's Arwen? Is she all right? Is she--" But Boromir could go no further. His eyes had fallen on the vision giggling softly on the snowy sheets with her eyes sparkling, and he was suddenly breathless.

There in front of him was Arwen, alive and well and lovely as she'd ever be. Golden sunlight shone on her from the open windows, making her skin glint. Her cheeks were suffused with a lovely shade of pink, and her hair streaming down the soft cushions was like a dark glittering river.

He struggled to move, to say something, but the relief was just too great. Then he saw her open her arms at him, calling his name softly - and it was such a childlike gesture that he felt his heart swell.

Before she knew it she was in his arms again, her face nestled against his chest, his hands in her hair, her arms about his neck.

She was crying now, but she did not realize it.

While unconscious she'd had a dream… the long, heartrending dream of the life of an Elf named Lúthien. In those dreams, she loved one Man. Beren was his name, and 'Tinúviel', 'my Tinúviel', were the names he had for her. They were in love, and they were happy, and that did not change even in the moment when dead did part them.

Yet it was not a dream.

It was a memory.

The memory of her soul.

"Beren…" She moved away to look at him, uncertainty clear in her eyes.

Did he too remember who they'd been one lifetime before? Had he too understood that they were the reincarnations of those legendary lovers? Could he too feel their never-ending love, a love that had surpassed death, surround them?

"Welcome back my love," answered he, kissing her hair softly, her brow, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose and, finally, her lips.

"Welcome back on Middle Earth, Lúthien. My Arwen."

"Oh, Boromir…" she cried, throwing her arms about him once more.

* * * * *

Later that day, the whole Fellowship gathered in her rooms for an emergency meeting, mostly because Arwen should not go walking around yet.

The four Hobbits had knelt in a circle all around her bed like children, with their elbows digging in the mattress and their chin in their hands. Lascaran was lying in a similar position among Pippin's unruly curls, while Boromir sat in a chair next to Arwen, just close enough to hold her hand.

Éowyn, Elladan and Elrohir stood upright at the foot of the bed, their faces pale and their eyes still glittering with tears. Gandalf sat in a winged chair by the window with his beloved pipe in his mouth.

At first they were all so overjoyed to see her up and well that they could do little else but cry, whisper her name over and over in awe and touch her skin carefully, almost as if needing to know she want not just a figment of their aggrieved minds.

Then, after a good couple of hours of doing nothing but Eskimo kissing with Beren/Boromir, being pampered, squeezed like a teddy-bear, and repeating over and over that she was well and that it was _no one's _fault if she'd been wounded, Arwen asked in one single breath all those questions her Companions had dreaded to hear and really didn't want to answer:

"What was it that you wanted to tell me? What are Legolas and Aragorn doing? How come they're not here? Are things going well with them, now that they know they're to marry each other?"

The others traded glances for several minutes.

Some cleared their throats, some others shifted their weight uneasily, and most averted her gaze.

It is a major understatement to say that Arwen immediately regretted asking.

Suddenly she became aware of ominous little rainclouds rising from Gandalf's pipe and gathering around him in a ring. Sparkles of lighting could be seen now and then among the dark fumes. At one point a drift of rain came from one of those miniature clouds, the shiny droplets gathering in a happy puddle on the floor.

Arwen reclined back against her cushions then, and brought a hand to her head.

"Suddenly I don't want to know," she sighed. "But I need to, do I not? What is it?" Then she stood upright, so abruptly that the pain in her chest burst into sudden life, and through her teeth she asked, fearing the answer:

"They haven't… called off the marriage. Have they?"

"Welllllllllll… no," Boromir said reluctantly, when he saw no one else would speak. Arwen was just about to relax back against the cushions when he added: "But…" Her body went painfully tense once more. A chorus of pain rose in her throbbing head.

"But…?"

"There are some… issues," provided Merry lamely. Without his book he looked suddenly taller, his chest broader, and Arwen noticed for the first time that he towered over the other Hobbits of a whole bunch of inches. One of her eyebrows quirked at his reply.

"Such as?"

"Uhm…"

A minute of silence passed. Then, "I don't believe it," Arwen croaked out in horror. "Are you telling me… no, it cannot be… they haven't… _they do not know it's *each other* that they're marrying_? They're _*still*_ clueless?"

"Among other things, yes, that's what we were trying to say." said Gandalf, waving his pipe left and right. "Of course everyone knows by now that the _Aurêl_ is the blonde male Elf that they glimpsed on the Eagle's back, and that their future King is the bearded Man that came on another Eagle. But _they _don't have the slightest clue about each other's identity."

Arwen silently thanked the Valar for Boromir's never-ending provision of _athelas_ as she brought a hand up to her forehead.

"Oh, _my_… Hold on a second. _Other things_, I believe you said?"

"Yes."

"_What _other things?" Gandalf shrugged. Arwen shuddered.

She's learned that to see him shrug meant troubles.

Big, capitalized, underlined and written in bright red letters, kind of troubles.

Gandalf only shrugged when he was about to tell you something had gone catastrophically wrong, and still he wanted to pretend it wasn't a big deal.

_'Pretend' _being the keyword, here.

"Oh, well. You know… _things_. They don't talk to each other anymore, to start with." A stab of pain in her head.

"…what?"

"And they vowed to never see each other again too, now that I think about it. In fact they've never left their respective chambers since our arrival. We couldn't drag them out even to drink or eat."

Stab.

"Not to mention they're behaving as though they don't know each other and have never been in love."

Stab.

"Mostly because they think that their love is a bad thing--"

Stab.

"—and that it was because of it if you've gotten wounded."

STAB.

Her mind reeled. Arwen suddenly regretted that Elves seldom fainted: a good faint was just what she needed right now.

"…excuse me?"

Gandalf shrugged _again_ (much to her horror), and waving his pipe in circles he said:

"They think that it's their fault if you almost died. We've been much delayed due to their inability to keep their hands off each other. If it wasn't for this delay we would have never reached Lothlòrien so late, or taken the underground route. And if we'd never taken it, you would have never been hurt either."

The Wizard took a pause to puff some other little clouds from his pipe –they were shaped like spiders this time, and crawled happily all about his head in a circle.

"All of this is true, off course. But we can't really blame them. It wouldn't be right. What happened was just an accident, a series of terrible, terrible, coincidences. Call it destiny if you will – and destiny can't be blamed on anyone, be they mortal or immortal. Even the Valar have no power over it."

Arwen nodded her head meekly.

"I'd never think to blame them. How could I? As you said, it was no one's fault. Yet it was my choice, and if someone you must blame, then blame *me*. I knew what was about to happen, and made my choice without asking any of you."

Boromir squeezed her hand softly, and she smiled gratefully up at him. Her eyes were still sad, though, and troubled. When her voice came, it was low and trembling.

"I thought sacrificing myself in order to save other was the right thing to do… but now I see it was egoistic of me to do so. I chose to die myself rather than see those I love hurting; but my actions only brought sadness to you all."

Éowyn went to her, and kneeling to the side of her bed she took her other hand and patted it in a comforting fashion.

"Arwen… to sacrifice yourself for others is a noble thing… the kind of thing only heroes do," she began, kissing the Elf's brow in they way Elven siblings always did. "Next time just remember that death is only the very last resort, and that confiding in your friends can always open up other ways for you to take."

Elladan watched them embrace, the two women he loved the most, and sighed.

One was pale, tall and willowy and dark of hair, like the embodiment of night. The other was aflame with life, and her hair was a shower of gold that made her look like the embodiment of day.

Pure beauty embracing pure beauty.

His breath was immediately stolen.

With sadness he realized they'd never live eternally, those two splendid creatures, not even the one that was born immortal.

One would die of age, the other out of love for a mortal Man.

And he wondered if he too would follow them in the realm beyond, out of love for a mortal Woman.

"It may have been wrong of you, or just the noblest thing you could do. Either way, it is a past thing, and all that matters is that we're here, together," said he wistfully. Arwen sighed.

"Then why can't they see it?"

An ominous silence befell the Company.

"We know it's not their fault. But as much as we tried, they won't believe it," Gandalf revealed after a moment, and his voice was soft, almost soothingly, like that of a grandfather telling fairytales to children in bed.

"_'If only I was stronger, if only I had not acted upon my feelings, reminding that my duty lay with someone else! Then nothing of this would have occurred!'_ This is what they answer us whenever we tell them they're blameless."

"Oh," Arwen croaked out feebly. Éowyn gently helped her to rest back against her cushions.

"Yes, 'oh'." The Wizard nodded. "Anyway, it's a luck you recovered so fast. Aragorn and Legolas's wedding takes place tomorrow. Do you think you'll be able attend to it?"

Blink.

"…could you run that by me again?"

He could not have said what she thought he had, could he?

"I said, do you think you can attend to it?"

"No, I mean, the part before that."

"They've decided not to call off their engagements anymore. The wedding ceremony takes place tomorrow." His tone was the same he'd use with a dumb child.

"You're joking, aren't you?" Arwen blinked, sure by far that there MUST be something wrong with her ears. She looked up at Boromir, her eyes questioning and wide. "They forswore their love, they think it wrong, AND they will be married tomorrow? What is it that I am missing, here?" Boromir rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

"As you said before, they do NOT know yet WHO they're to marry. Legolas chose to deny his heart, and will now marry Prince Estel for duty. Likewise, Aragorn hopes that marrying the _Aurêl_ instead that the one he loves will tame his guilt, somehow."

"For all the stars in the sky…!" she gaped at him. Her jaw dropped and for several minutes her mouth opened and closed like a fish's.

"I don't really understand why you're all fretting this much," Pippin piped up after some time of worried silence. "They don't know who they're marrying, that's true. But when tomorrow they'll finally leave those blasted chambers of theirs, they'll see it with their own eyes! Everything will be well and we will all live happily ever after. End of the tale."

His voice grew uncertain as he asked, looking about: "…right?"

"Oh, I don't know!" cried out Arwen. She bit her bottom lip. "Pippin, you know that this marriage is very important for the whole Middle Earth, don't you?"

"Is it really?" he asked, and watched Arwen nod slowly her head.

"It's very nearly our last hope to win the millenary battle against Evil," she said softly.

"I…I don't think I… understand. Really, I… how could a marriage…?" stuttered Pippin. This time it was Gandalf who answered him.

The Wizard had his back to the window, and he was but a shadowy outline with gleaming eyes and a crown of light around his head.

"There was at time, decades ago, when Men, Elves, Dwarves and even Ents joined together in a most powerful army. The Last Alliance, it was called. And most people think such alliance still exist – but that's not so. At one point in time dark feelings began to grow in the hearts of the Free People - mistrust… enmity… jealousy… rage… anger… contempt… hate… The wisest think it was the enemy's doing, even if no one knows for sure. Either way, those dark feelings kept growing until it reached a breaking point.

"Dwarves refused to even talk to Elves.

"Ents were most likely to wound Men who dared enter their woods.

"The army split like fragile grass into four groupings of battlers.

"And the war we were so like to win, we almost lost it."

Pippin's eye grew round, and his mouth was in the shape of a perfect O.

"Then there's no real army at the borders protecting us?"

"Not really, no," answered Gandalf.

"For centuries each race has fought on its own, not trusting the others, not helping the others, and not caring about the others' words, or fates. Yet, in very recent times, Dwarves warriors chose to serve the Captains of Men, while Ents swore to follow only the Elves' lead. Two stronger army were so formed, but it's not enough. It never was. Elves and Men must unite, too," said Arwen, and again she shook her head sadly.

"Why must they fight one another? Why can't they see? The sun above us Elves is the same as that which shines over Dwarves! The wind blowing the leafy limbs of the Ents is the same that which cools the sweat off the brow of Men! Middle Earth is a precious treasure passed down to us from our ancestors, and we should fight side by side to protect it."

The room grew quiet.

"And only the marriage between Aragorn and Legolas could reunite _all _races together under the same flag? Is that what you're saying?" asked Pippin. He stood now with his chin in his closed hand, his eyes downcast and his brow furrowed thoughtfully. 

"Exactly." said Gandalf with a solemn voice. "Another Alliance of all Races must be formed, if we want a chance to win against the Shadow. And an alliance, or better, a marriage between the heir of Gondor and the heir of Mirkwood, is the first step in that direction."

"I see…" Pippin nodded. He let out a long breath through his upper lip. "But then, there's no need to worry, is there? They're marrying each other tomorrow in the morn!"

"Yes, but… they've lied to each other's Pippin," whispered Arwen. "And their love made them suffer so much they forsook it. What will happen if tomorrow, upon knowing each other's identities, they'll choose not to marry? What if they believe the pain will not be worth it? Or worst – what if they do marry, out of duty, not trusting nor wanting to love one another? Then the rift between Elves and Men would grove even wider, and there would be no hope anymore for Middle Earth."

Her voice echoed in the still bedroom, bouncing against the high ceiling.

None spoke nor moved for the longest moment, then Pippin leaped to his feet, and with his clear, ringing voice he said:

"I think Aragorn and Legolas really love each other. Tomorrow they *will* marry, and it will be out of love, and not of duty. We mustn't worry. After all, love conquers everything, does it not?"

"So they say, Pippin," sighed Gandalf from the winged chair. "So they say." 

** _EPILOGUE _**

**__**

_The Wedding Day _

**__**

Aragorn stood in front of a long mirror, clad in the blue and silver velvets Faramir had chosen for him. 

Never before had he looked so kingly. 

Never before had he felt so unlike himself. 

As he gazed at his reflection Aragorn asked himself if that was really him, but though his image pleased him he would have given everything for his Ranger clothes – so formal, comfortable, smelling of sunshine and rain and grass, the smell of freedom he loved above any other. 

His reflection seemed to shift suddenly and laugh, throwing its head back even as Aragorn frowned and glared at it, fists clenched. 

_Liar! _sang the reflection. _Liar, liar liar! The smell of Legolas's hair, _that_ is the smell you love the most. _

The future King swirled around angrily, and gave his back to the mirror. 

Where was the sense in thinking about such things? 

Both the pickling smell of freedom and the sweet alluring smell of Legolas's hair were precluded to him, now. He'd better forget, forget it all and forever. 

_Ah, forget. That will be impossible, _came again that taunting voice. But this time it sounded forlorn and sweet, almost compassionate. _You can lock away in the deepest pit of your soul the memories of your precious Legolas, of his delighted voice, his dazzling eyes, his sweet love. But you will never forget. In the end, _the memories _will have you locked and prisoner. Not the other way around. _

Aragorn gave a low bark of a laugh and rubbed the bridge if his nose. 

"A willing prisoner I'd be, then." 

There came a knock at the door, and Faramir entered, clad in shades of green. Boromir went in after him, and behind them was Arwen. 

Her lilac gown flowed like mist around her ankles, leaving her long pale arms and shoulders bare. Her hair was tied up upon her head; three glassy ringlets cascaded down her back, while littler ones fell like an ebony frame around her lovely face. 

"Arwen!" Cried Aragorn, and clasping her to him he spun her round, revelling in the silvery sound of her laugh. 

"Ah, Estel!" she sighed, touching his cheek. "It's so good to see your face again!" 

"That I should say!" replied he, touching her face as well. "I'm sorry I was not there when you woke, but I was—delayed." he said lamely. 

"That I understand," she nodded. Her lips were up in the sweetest smile. "We're celebrating your wedding today, after all. You must have had much to do and think about." She cast a quick glance at Boromir, who nodded briskly. "Estel…" 

"Arwen, please, no." 

"But, Estel…" 

"I don't want pity. I'm doing the best thing." She exhaled softly, and then nodded. 

"I understand, but let me tell you this." She clasped his hands in hers, and when their eyes met, hers were like bottomless lakes, shimmering and dancing and alive with the gentle songs of sirens. 

It seemed to Aragorn that her eyes were putting a spell on him, but he did not fight it, because it felt it was not evil magic – she was just letting him see the depths of her love for him, her sincerity, her pain. 

"Love is a most unpredictable thing, Estel," she said in a smoky voice. "It can make you cry and bleed, just as it can make you laugh and fly. And if it chooses, it can come to you in the lest likely of forms and times. I ask you only this: grasp love when it comes your way. Grasp it, and don't let it slip through your fingers because of pride."

"Arwen, what are you…?" he stuttered, dazed. What was she saying?

"Just… believe in yourself and in what you feel. I said this to Boromir once, and I will tell it to now: your destiny is already laid before your feet. You cannot falter now. But if you're lost, then close your eyes, and just listen to _this." _She said and gently put his hand on his own heart. He could feel its beating under his palm, and her warmth around his fingers.

"It will know how to guide you. It always will," she ended softly, and then, suddenly weak, she leaned back against Boromir.

The Man curled one arm around her waist protectively, and caressing her hair gently, he put a sweet lingering kiss on her mouth.

A fish would have envied Aragorn the skill he showed when he began to open and close his mouth rhythmically. Arwen could not suppress a giggle when she saw his stunned face.

"Surely you knew this would come to happen, sooner or later?" she asked playfully. Her eyes positively sparkled.

"Well, yes," Aragorn managed to say. "I think I've always known you two were in love. When I was little, whenever I thought about my future, the only thing I was sure of was that you two would be there, and would be together. We surely can't call it 'sudden', but to see it with my own eyes… well… wow." He shook his head, a disbelieving yet joyful look on his face. "I'm happy for you. I really am. Take care of her, Boromir - and you of him, Arwen."

They laughed, but the joy was short lived – Denethor stormed into the room, and bowing briskly he told Aragorn it was time to go: the ceremony must begun.

* * * * *

Butterflies had danced in his stomach the entire way to the terrace where the ceremony would take place. But now that he stood before the altar, it felt like those little butterflies had suddenly morphed into seagulls.

_Giant _seagulls.

Aragorn took a breath and looked about him.

All the Members of the Company (minus Legolas and Éowyn, of course) were sitting in semicircle behind him, smiling encouragingly up the dais where he stood. Faramir and a few guards were with them too, and even those unknown people seemed to be cheering him silently.

Aragorn tried to smile for them, but found he could not.

He faced forward again.

Gandalf stood before him on the other side of the altar. His worn out robes had been replaced by a shining white attire. His hair and long white beard had been combed, and instead of his old ragged staff he bore one beautifully carved sceptre. A flaming red ring shone on his other hand. His eyes danced with mischief – to be honest, he looked about to burst into laughter.

Aragorn tried to burn holes trough him with a glare, but found out that that too he could not do.

Denethor instead looked like gravity made flesh. He stood straight like an ancient tree beside Aragorn, his bushy brows furrowed, his hands fisted tightly, his chin raised with more than little pride.

Gollum, poor little thing, was sitting on his heels in a corner, watching in fascination the wedding rings he'd been asked to carry. The light in his eyes was uncanny – almost as though he was hearing voices coming from the rings and they mesmerized him.

What a weird creature, Aragorn thought.

But what really, really unnerved the future King was the crowd gathered in the plaza down below them.

Every habitant of the White City was there, waiting for them moment when, at the end of the ceremony, Aragorn would walk up to the edge of the balcony and introduce them to his bride, his mate for life, their other ruler.

And it would be Éowyn.

Not Legolas.

Never Legolas.

_Valar, give me strength…_

He could feel their wide eyes on him, their fingers pointing, their delighted laughter ringing.

And their soft whispered voices were louder than the Fall of Rauros in his ears.

Aragorn wanted nothing more than pass out.  
No, he wanted to run.

Better yet, kidnap Legolas and run.

He broke into a cold sweat.

  
Suddenly, a joyful fanfare. His friends standing. Rustling of cloth. The roar of the people below. Laughs. Hands clapping furiously.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Aragorn turned towards the door, towards his future.

As he expected, Éowyn stood in the doorway. But beautiful and radiant as she was, it was not the sight of her that stole his breath. It was not the sight of her that made him gasp, that made his knees almost buckle, his head spin.

Arm in arm with Éowyn was what he once again swore to be the most beautiful creature to ever walk Middle Earth.

Arm in arm with Éowyn was Legolas.

_It cannot be…_

He was confused at first. Even scared. Then he felt compelled to laugh. The voice from the mirror was back in his head.

_Of course, you fool. Who did you think would walk the spouse up to the altar? Elladan, so that you could see his heart break before your eyes? Of course it had to be Legolas. He's come for this, he's said it himself when you've first met. He's Éowyn's servant. He's come to give you her hand, since her father could not come himself. _

Aragorn closed he eyes. 'Cruel irony', he thought.

The voice had nothing to add to it.

* * * * *  
  


Legolas's eyes widened when he saw, right next the old Man who had to be Prince Estel, none other but Aragorn. His heart skipped a beat; fire spread on his cheeks. 

"It cannot be…" he murmured to himself. 

Why, oh why of all people they had to choose Aragorn to be the best man at the wedding? Couldn't it be someone else? But then again, who else could they chose? Boromir, whose heart you almost broke, letting Arwen be hurt? 

No, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. 

It made sense that the Man who had brought the bride safe to the Kingdom should attend to the ceremony. 

It made sense that such a hero was chosen to stand side by side with the soon to be husband of his love. 

It was perfectly logical. 

And so, so cruel. 

Legolas shut his eyes as Éowyn began to led him forward. He was ashamed to feel the now familiar prickle of tears behind his closed eyelids. 

* * * * * 

Even in the years to come, Gandalf was proud of how long he'd kept his laughter at bay. 

He did not laugh when Legolas, with his eyes shut, reached the altar where Aragorn stood with his eyes similarly closed. 

He did not laugh when, hearing him speak the ritual phrase of "we're all gathered here in this joyous day", they whipped their head around -eyes still firmly closed- so that even if their bodies faced each other, their faces didn't. 

He did not laugh even when, due to his request to hold hands the two groped blindly (their eyes, you must realize, were still closed) for the other's hand. 

He did not laugh when they succeeded in finding it, and twin grimaces of disgust appeared on their faces. 

But he couldn't possibly hold his laughter anymore. 

This was bordering absurd. 

"Open your eyes, you fools!" He boomed, watching Aragorn and Legolas jump two inches off the floor in surprise and fright. 

As one they whipped back around, opened their eyes wide, gave a little cry, pointed one shacking finger at the other and – 

"WHAT THE HELL ARE *YOU* DOING HERE?!" they cried in perfect unison. 

Gandalf laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.

The rest of the Fellowship was laughing just as hard.

Gollum had begun to caress softly the rings in his palm.

Aragorn and Legolas were a bit late on the news, but since no one seemed willing to explain, they had time to catch up.

"What am *I* doing here?" they cried out as one, each pointing his chest. 

"What are *you* doing here?" 

Each pointed the other's chest. 

"*Me*?" 

Another show of spectacular choreography, as each poked the other in the chest before poking themselves hard a couple of times. 

"I should ask *you*! This is *my* wedding!" 

Silence. 

Well, silence from them, giggles from the Company and hushed whispers from the people of Gondor. 

About a minute of staring, and Aragorn and Legolas blinked.

Another twenty seconds, and their eyes widened.

Another bunch of seconds and they managed first to move their mouths, and then a resounding gasp.

"*YOU* are Prince Estel??"

"*YOU* are the _Aurêl_??"

"Of course I am!" came from both of them, and once again their voices sounded as one.

Gandalf didn't know what force prevented him from throwing himself on the floor laughing and roll around, holding his sides.

The look of mixed horror and hope on their faces was absolutely priceless.

A pity non one had invented a device to capture it on paper, or something like that.

Legolas was the first to recover, and in an awed whisper he said: "Your fiancée, who you knew I'd love. The marriage forced upon you, that would turn the warfare in our favour, that would give those that fight Sauron a new hope… me. My marriage. Us."

Aragorn nodded. "And you, so regal and proud even as you said you were a servant. It was a pretence, for your sake, to protect you from those who could want to hurt the _Aurêl_ … just like I pretended not to be of Royal Blood."

Legolas laughed, throwing back his head even as one tear rolled down his cheek.

"Misunderstandings! A comedy of errors, it all was! Nothing but pretences." He shook his head.

Aragorn caught the teardrop on his face and brought it to his own lips. He licked it gently, and then: "Your love for me," he asked. "Was that a pretence too?"

"Never," Legolas whispered fiercely, and Aragorn was grateful to see the ring of Barahir shine quietly on Legolas's ring-finger.

Without pausing for thought, he threw his arms around the elf and held him tightly, just as Legolas's own arms circled his neck.

"I love you," they both said in unison, then laughed.

"Truly, we've been such fools," Legolas said, gasping for breath.

"It's part of your charm," assured Aragorn with a grin.

"You're impossible." Legolas punched him playfully on the arm.

"Which is part of my charm," sighed Aragorn, catching the Elf's fist and raising it to his lips to place a kiss on their ring. "I love you, my Elf."

"I know. I never doubted it." replied Legolas, he too kissing the glittering gem on his finger. "But I love you more."

"No. _I_ love you more."

"_I_ do."

"_*I_* do."

"Elves are more capable of love."

"Racist."

"I'm being realist."

"That's not true, because I love you more." Legolas wriggled his nose cutely, and put both hands on his hips.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ranger, but I am the one that wore _your_ ring at my supposed wedding with _another Man_. It's obvious that I love you more." Aragorn's eyes narrowed.

"Just because I had no ring of yours to wear."

"I gave you the _Green Leaf!_"

"And what do you think this lump under my shirt is??"

"That does not change the fact that I---"

They kept it on for endless minutes.

And yet their audience still giggled, still unnoticed by them.

The people in the plaza were starting to wear worried frowns.

Gollum was rubbing his cheek against the rings and calling them _Preciousss, oh, Percioussss_.

"Here they go again…" mumbled Boromir, slapping a hand on his face. Arwen giggled.

"I must admit, it's kind of cute."

"I thought they had stopped fighting over nothing?" Elrohir asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's their way of flirting," assured his sister. "There's nothing to worry about."

She nodded to Gandalf, who nodded back, equally relieved.

Rising his hands above him the wizard cleared his throat nosily.

"Yeah, yeah, Legolas is the _Aurêl_, Aragorn is Prince Estel, and you're very much in love. Now that that's settled, do you think we can go back to the wedding?" he asked. Aragorn and Legolas whipped towards him, eyes round.

"But *I*…" they said together.

"No buts," he warned. Then he turned towards Aragorn. "So, do you or don't you?"

"Do I or don't I _what_?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow at him.

"The vows," he reminded. Aragorn stared blankly at him. Gandalf's eyebrow twitched.

"Did you her a single word of what I said during the ceremony?"

"Uhm… no." Gandalf slapped his face.

"Let's try it again. Prince Estel of Gondor, will you take the _Aurêl_, crown Prince of Mirkwood, as your life mate? The one that you shall always love, and cherish and remain true to?" 

For a moment, Aragorn said nothing. 

Everyone held their breath. 

Then, doing as Arwen had told him, Aragorn closed his eyes slowly, and listened intently to the voice coming from his heart. 

None moved. 

None dared to speak. 

Ever so slowly a smile came to his face. Snapping his eyes open he turned towards Legolas with a smile. He took his warm white hand in his own, and leaning towards him he said a resounding and clear: 

"No." 

* * * * *

"No."

Legolas's smile died on his lips. His heart contracted painfully. Aragorn's voice came back at him from the unyielding walls, taunting him, cutting him like blades.

_No, no, no, no. He said no. He doesn't want me. He said no. _

He felt his shoulders sag, the strength pour out of his body. The noises from the Fellowship – the heated cries, Éowyn's shriek, Gandalf incredulous murmur – were but a faint and distant din in his ears.

He faced away, and would have run, hadn't Aragorn took him by the waist and clasped him to his chest.

Curious_,_ Legolas thought, how their hearts still beat in splendid unison.

"No," repeated Aragorn as he traced Legolas's face lovingly with his fingertips. The Elf exhaled painfully.

"I won't marry the _Aurêl_ of Mirkwood, for a marriage of duty is not what I want. The one I want to marry, the only one I _will_ marry, is Legolas, the wondrous creature that I met in Mirkwood and that for some great miracle happens to be my betrothed." With lips and tongue he brushed the graceful tip of Legolas's ear. The elf gasped. 

"Because I love him, and I want to make him mine - out of love." 

He leaned back away, and on his face was the most radiant grin Legolas had ever seen. 

"And if my beloved Legolas were to say no, I must warn him that I won't give up, and I will court him and pester him and charm him until he too will love me enough to forget his duty, and marry his humble Ranger instead that a Royal Prince." 

"Oh, _Aragorn!_" Legolas cried, tears of joy running down his face.

Taking both of his beloved's hands in his, he leaned up and captured his lips in a fierce kiss, immersing his tongue in the Man's mouth, then reaching up to cradle the back of his head and pressing their bodies flush, burying his fingers in the Man's hair, pouring all the passion and love he felt in the kiss.

The audience gave a collective sigh of relief.

Gollum tried to feed his rings with a baby's bottle.

Gandalf stopped pulling at his hair, and dusted his tunic off of inexistent dust. He coughed in his hand.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', Aragorn. I take you agree to these terms, Legolas?" the pair kept their kissing, ignoring him, and went on for several minutes, setting a new Record.

Then an urgency appeared in their moves that forced Gandalf into action.

"I take that too as a 'yes'!" he blurted out. "Legolas, Aragorn, I declare you Man and –uhm- Elf? No. Uhm… Lawfully wedded…husbands? …partners? Oh, who cares! You're married now!" He shouted, and fireworks shot out from is staff. Vivid beams of colours, red, green, blue and yellows spiralled up to the sky and exploded in dazzling figures that shivered and glittered as though overwhelmed with joy for the newly married couple.

Aragorn and Legolas walked to the edge of the balcony, still kissing, and the audience below them broke into a joyous cry. They all stood up, clapping, shouting, jumping, tromping their feet, even.

The sky was by now but a poll of vivid bright colours melting and meeting and exploding, until suddenly flickering lights began to rain down on them from above. Everywhere the shining little teardrops fell they dissolved into a fresh fragrant mist.

And, behold! When the light touched the White Tree of Gondor it trembled and swelled, straightening up. New life rushed through its limbs, silvery leaves were born and grew to shiver in the wind, fragrant crystal flowers opened their petals to show their glowering hearts.

The crowd redoubled their cries at such magic.

Several people began to dance in circle, with their head thrown back, their arms raised, and lovely songs sprouted from their throats.

_The King has come! _they cried as they danced and clapped and laughed and cried. _The Dark times are over! The Valar bless the King and the Prince! _

It was the beginning of a new Era, the splendid birth of a new hope.

On the terrace, Aragorn and Legolas stood in each other's arms, smiling and waving at their people, and the happiness and love raising from all around them was like a beam of pure golden light reaching to the sky.

They had fought, cried, suffered and bleed, and finally they had it.

Happiness, at last.

Hours and hours of merrymaking followed one another. The light in the sky diminished, stars blossomed like fragrant white flowers on the velvet of the night and then gave way to the soft radiance of dawn, and still people laughed and danced on the plaza.

Fires had been lighted all around and instruments had been brought to make songs even more lovely, even more powerful. Wine and sweet fruit and warm cakes were still being passed around, and not a door was closed, not a single person was alone.

Then Aragorn leaned over Legolas, as though exhausted, and holding his husband close to him he murmured:

"This is bliss as I'd never thought possible. If this is a dream, then I don't ever want to wake up. Now there's only one thing we need, to make this absolutely perfect. For us and for them all."

"And what could it be?" replied Legolas with a raised eyebrow.

"Heirs," Aragorn whispered, nibbling along the Elf's sensitive ear. "Shouldn't we try, and go working a little on some miniature Aragorns and Legolases?" he asked.

Legolas laughed, clear and high, and it was the happiest of the songs bubbling all around them.

"Definitely," he murmured back.

And so, even in the middle of the festivities for their wedding, the Royal Couple of Gondor disappeared from view.

The sun rose above, and light spilled over Middle Earth.

Joy to all of us.

**_THE END._**__

**_So… this is it. The end of Radical Dreamers. =) _**

**_Well what can I say? _**

**_Just… WOW. _**

**_When I started working on this fic, I surely did NOT imagine I would fall *so* in love with it, (I've been playing with the notion to make an original story out of it and publish it), or that so many people would love it as much as I do. ^_^ _**

**_I want to thank everyone for your wonderful reviews, your e-mails, and all your support and patience. _**

**_If this story has been completed at last, it is because of YOU all!!! _**

**_Thanks, everyone. Really. ^_^ _**


End file.
